


Frenetic

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alcohol, Crime Boss AU, Kidnapping, M/M, Mafia AU, Mob Violence, Mobsters, Slow Burn, Underage - Freeform, ill update tags as they become relevant, plot heavy, undercover cop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-26 12:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 48,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim began to reevaluate his commitment to stalking the Wayne family when he found himself tied to a chair at one in the morning.</p><p>**abandoned, see last chapter for summary and notes**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in the making for about three years now and i really hope you all enjoy it! i played with all my favorite canons and shoved them all into this au so be on the lookout for references!! i did a shload of research for this and even interviewed undercover cops to make sure shit was as accurate as i could make it. i really hope you guys like this!

Tim Drake could definitively say that spending time on rooftops, while fun in its own right, had its downsides. Tonight for example was just edging on the chilly side of cool and the constant bite of the metal against his bare hands made maneuvering his camera something along the lines of unpleasant. The icy wind carried off the bay wasn’t helping matters either. Every minute wasted waiting left him aching for the warmth of his bed back home. But Tim recognized a problem when he saw one, and the barren docks below were practically screaming their suspicion.

His contact was reliable, trustworthy even, but it was forty minutes past the time he had been given and at this point it was obvious that something was wrong. Where there was meant to be dark characters dealing their dark contraband, there was only empty pier and the mocking waves below. Tim refocused the lens and did another sweep of the area, muttering under his breath. The Hood was as punctual as he was attractive, there was no reason why something as simple as a drug shipment should be delayed this long. It just wasn’t done.

"So you think I'm sexy and punctual? That's cute, pretty bird."

In the moment it took Tim to whip around, strong, relentless hands seized him, preventing any chance of escape. The image of Jason "Red Hood" Todd seated languidly on the roof’s back ledge, smiling around his cigarette like a goddamn cat that just ate the canary greeted him for only a moment before a blindfold was wrestled over his eyes, courtesy of whom he could only assume was the demon Wayne kid.

Presumably the same hands from before forced his wrists behind his back and bound them with some kind of rope. The camera he had hanging from his neck strap was tugged away and the cold kiss of metal against his temple and a whispered "speak and die" had any possible rebuttal dry up in his throat. As far as captures go, this one was fairly cut and dry.

The scent of tobacco, leather, and gun powder warned Tim of Jason’s approach but did little to prepare him for the fingers that Tim felt trail through his messy hair. The gun's weight bit deeper into his skin at his annoyed sigh. Figures he would be caught by Jason and Damian.

Tim huffed out a breath. “Is this the part where I beg for you not to hurt me?” he asked, gritting his teeth at the painful sting of the gun bruising his flesh.

Jason's laughter was the only warning he got before Tim was subjected to the sudden vertigo that comes with being thrown over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Tim bit his lip to keep from swearing or making some decidedly un-masculine noise in surprise. Capture turned kidnapping. Tim’s night was certainly shaping up to be eventful, failed rooftop stakeout aside.

"Don't you fret, Princess. We have nothing but the best of intentions in store for you. Gotta say, it's fuckin’ adorable that you take our pictures. Makes a guy wonder just how much you follow us around. Am I your favorite unsuspectin' model?" he asked, jostling the shoulder Tim was ever so elegantly draped over.

Jason seemed to talk the entire way to whatever dank building it was they went to for kidnappings in a pinch. Tim wished he could say he hated every minute of it. From his position, he could feel every nuanced rumble in Jason’s speech and he could sense his adolescent crush rearing its ugly, blushing head at the deep voice vibrating through his bones. Fate was a fickle bitch and Tim couldn’t help but feel personally victimized.

The carrying continued for a few uncomfortable minutes until Tim felt the change in temperature and the loss of wind, signaling that they had entered the warehouse’s main level. He had half expected them to cart him off to some nigh-inescapable torture chamber far from civilization, but he wasn’t going to complain. At least he knew where he was, for the time being.

Tim was plopped down into a chair, the blindfold ripped roughly off his eyes to leave him blinking at the two well-dressed Wayne boys whispering harshly in front of him about what they should do next. Something in their demeanor suggested they weren’t all that prepared for this sort of scenario. He rolled his eyes and tapped his foot impatiently. Couple scourges of the underworld, really.

“We need to eliminate the threat Todd! Father has protocols instituted for events such as these and we need to follow them!”

That was Damian Wayne, biological son of Bruce Wayne, the don of the illustrious and covert Wayne Family. Raised in some Middle Eastern country until a few years back, he was trained in all sorts of terrifying arts, and, if the rumors were to be believed, assassination was his forte. From what he had gathered, Damian wasn’t high up in the family due to his age, but he still had a lot of pull and saw a fair amount of action. Tim wasn’t much a fan, and not just because the little brat was vying for his execution.

“You aren’t even thinking about how we could use him though! If he found his way into our shit just imagine what he could do if we pointed him at our competitors. And my fuckin’ god Demon, look at him! _He looks like a Botticelli angel and you want to kill him?!_ ”

And that, Tim thought with an annoyed flush, was Jason Peter Todd-Wayne, born August 16th, twenty-one years old, adopted by Bruce Wayne when he was eleven after he stole the tires off his car while parked in Crime Alley. Jason enjoys reading classic literature, foreign and English, and Tim would bet his camera that if he checked that jacket he’d find a worn paper back jammed in a pocket. He deals with the street work aspect of the family business, functioning as Wayne’s second, and he enjoys getting…hands on with his work apparently. Tim has a lot of pictures of him, working and otherwise.

“Would you stop trying to have intercourse with the person who has been stalking our operations for who knows how long?! How are you Father’s second when you put your own libido before the safety of my father’s enterprises?!”

Tim frowned at that. He didn’t stalk them. Stalking was an ugly word. He just got…bored. And unplanned things tend to happen when he got bored. Like just so happening to find his way into the Wayne family’s secure servers and finding the shipping manifests for their scheduled imports along with the fact that someone had been obviously skimming off the top of their yearly cash influx. It wasn’t stalking, it was merely making himself privy. A concerned citizen really.

“You see Demon, this is why you will never get laid. You gotta live a little. And when you find yourself with a stalker that looks like Dorian Gray tied up in front of you, you try to find a little more pleasurable a solution than killin’ the guy.”

Tim figured he should interject at this point. He cleared his throat.

“As much as I’m enjoying your little conversation over there— which is not at all, but can I go now? I’m a pretty busy person so….”

Both heads whipped in his direction, one glaring, and the other smirking. Jason strutted towards him, hands on his hips and Tim watched him approach, unimpressed.

“You got some other underboss to photograph? I’m hurt babe, I thought I was special for a minute there,” he walked around the chair, resting his arms on the back and looking down on Tim from above, smiling with just a bit too much teeth to look innocent. “If you wanna tell me what you were doin’ at that transaction though, I may be able to bandage my broken heart and let you go off without Demon over there wreckin’ your pretty little everything. This would be the part where you start beggin’” He cupped Tim’s cheek and stroked his cheekbone with his thumb.

Tim hid his breath hitching with an unamused huff. He rolled his eyes and tilted his head back further to look Jason in the eye. “Oh, please don’t hurt me Mister Todd sir, I swear I didn’t mean to,” he said in a sharp monotone, batting his eye lashes with an even sharper smile.

He could hear Damian’s tuts of derision but he didn’t look away.

“Let’s just kill him! We will not get anything of value from his continued existence Todd!” He had moved towards them, drawing a knife from seemingly nowhere. Tim felt Jason growl above him.

“Calm your tits Demon, I got this,” he said. His hands moved to rest heavily on Tim’s shoulders. Tim let out a sigh.

“Seeing as it took me the lesser part of an hour to break through your piss poor excuse of a fire wall and see that someone in your organization is pocketing your profits, I somehow really doubt that, as you so eloquently put it Mister Todd, ‘got this,’” Tim drawled, rolling his neck a bit and shifting in the uncomfortable chair. “But if you intend to impress me at any point tonight, by all means of course. Though if it’s at all possible? Soon? I really am a busy person.”

Jason and Damian exchanged a rather frazzled look and seemed to be communicating telepathically about something over his head. He resumed his foot tapping and huffed out a breath. He had always thought the mafia was about initiative and decisiveness, not drawn out deliberation and idiocy. They must have come to some sort of agreement because the next thing Tim knew, he was being thrown over an increasingly familiar shoulder and subjected to a rather large hand resting on his ass.

Tim was unable the meet Jason’s eyes from his present angle, but he could hear the smirk in his voice and he startled when the hand gave an appreciative squeeze. This was not happening.

“Hope you have time for some action in that busy schedule, pretty bird, ‘cause you just earned yourself a meeting with the bossman himself.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tim never expected his first face to face meeting with billionaire mafia head Bruce Wayne to occur when he was tied up and slung over his eldest kid’s shoulder with said son’s hand on his ass. Of course though, he never expected to have _the_ Jason Todd’s hand on his ass either, and yet here he was.

They had gone from the warehouse and down a few side streets before sliding into a big black ominous car. He was pressed in between the Demon Brat and Jason, the latter practically gluing himself to Tim’s side, arm across the seat back and everything. The windows were tinted and kept him from discerning any landmarks. It was so cliché and he told them as much. Jason laughed, Damian glared, and Tim rolled his eyes, letting the conversation end there. They traveled through what he assumed was the city until they eventually pulled into what looked to be an underground parking garage.

Tim was manhandled out of the backseat and back onto Jason’s waiting shoulder. He gave a token protest but resigned himself to this being the preferred method of transport of his person for the time being.

He looked around as much as he could from his current angle and surmised that they were probably in a subbasement of Wayne Enterprises, and a private one at that if the single vehicle parked besides their own was any indication. Though it was late at night, big corporations never truly emptied out after dark. It had been the same at Drake Industries. The gaudy interior of the service elevator more or less confirmed his assumptions.

“So…does Mr. Wayne always work this late, or am I just special?” Tim drawled. He really didn’t think he could stand the stoic silence and elevator music for another nineteen floors.

He felt Jason chuckle and Damian’s cold glare.

“You aren’t supposed to know where we are, pretty bird. You just keep surprisin’ us, don’t ya?” His hand squeezed at Tim’s ass and he squirmed a bit, trying to knock his bound hands into Jason’s cocky face. The angle was all wrong though and all he succeeded in was making Jason laugh more. He was really starting to get a bit tired of the whole captive thing.

“It’s not like there are that many private parking garages available to the citizens of Gotham. It’s pretty obvious where we are.” If his tone came out acidic he blamed it on the chintzy jazz and fake wood paneling.

Jason patted his ass in what Tim could only assume was a comforting manner.

“Smart and beautiful, what a find. B’s gonna love you, I can just tell,” he replied as the doors chimed open. The dark lobby greeted them and they passed by the empty secretary desk without undue incident. There was a light on beside the work station that seemed to have been forgotten but Jason and Damian didn’t seem to pay it any mind. His stomach fluttered nervously as they approached what Tim assumed had to be Bruce Wayne’s office.

Despite the impression the elevator décor had given, the office they entered was classy in an understated way, with low lights and accented, but muted colors. Tim was unable to see the desk from his choice position, and he tried to suppress the redness in his face at how stupid he must look. First impressions were hard to break and this was one hell of a way to make an entrance.

“Father, we have come with the annoyance,” Damian had entered ahead of them and was seemingly already letting his displeasure be known.

“Bruce, look what we found on a rooftop all alone in the cold! Can we keep him, please? I promise to feed him and love him and he can even sleep in my room!”

Tim froze for a moment before resuming his struggle to hit Jason somewhere soft and painful.

A long, pained sounding sigh was let out somewhere in front of him.

“Put him down Jason. What have I told you about picking up strays,” he said in a way that sounded like this wasn’t the first time Jason had pulled something that made him lose faith in all humanity. Tim frowned a bit. Mr. Wayne sounded exhausted actually.

Jason reluctantly slid him off his shoulder, taking great care to make sure he had proper support on his lower back as he set him back on the floor. Tim shook off the hands and thumped Jason awkwardly with his bound fists. It didn’t do much but it made him feel a little bit better.

Damian grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and forced him down into yet another uncomfortable chair, one facing the proper direction so he could actually see the infamous Bruce Wayne.

He was a bulky, intimidating man, with cold blue eyes and austere cut features. His initial guess was correct. Bruce looked dead tired. Rumpled dress shirt, heavy bags under his eyes, and with his suit jacket tossed over his chair; it was obvious he had been working in here for a very long time. Tim gave him a tight smile.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed and he looked up at his sons. “Why is he here? You two know how to deal with…interlopers. Follow protocol.”

Damian let out an annoyed sound and jammed his elbow into Jason’s ribs. “This pathetic idiot thought _that_ pathetic idiot would be ‘useful’ or some nonsense. I refuse to take any of the blame in this,” he sneered, crossing his arms petulantly as he walked to the door. Bruce watched him leave and he rubbed tiredly at his eyes before refocusing his stare onto Jason.

Jason leaned on Tim’s chair with a bright smile. “You know how I never get you a Father’s Day present?” He patted Tim’s head, ruffling his hair, “’cause I just made up for all ten plus of them with this little bundle of joy right here.”

If anything, Bruce’s face went stonier.

“Explain,” he bit out. Tim was impressed Jason didn’t flinch at all.

Jason heaved a sigh and rested his chin on top of Tim’s head. “You know how you’ve been findin’ those missing numbers poppin’ up in all our account reports? This lil’ birdie informed me that he found the asshole skimmin’ off the top after he hacked our servers in, what did you say? Less than an hour? Oh Bruce, by the way, apparently our fire walls are shit. You should get that looked at,” he said mirthfully while fiddling with the collar of Tim’s flannel. Tim tried to not let himself smile.

Bruce pushed himself up from the cluttered desk to loom over them both. He fixed his stony stare on Tim. “Did you really infiltrate our network?” His voice was rough and a little cold.

Tim let out a put upon sigh. “I didn’t so much infiltrate it as I so much stumbled upon it and thought, hey, this could make for an exciting afternoon. It sadly didn’t last that long. The guy you’re looking for is a member of your overseas holdings in China. I think he’s some kind of executive? His name is Lau Tzeng? If you untie me I could show you the paper trail,” he offered, gesturing to the computer on the desk with his head.

His eyes bored a little deeper into Tim. After a minute he nodded his head and Jason pulled out a knife, slicing through the rope. Jason nudged him up and Bruce put a hand on the back of his desk chair, indicating for him to sit.

He rubbed the circulation back into his wrists as he moved around the desk, plopping into the leather chair. Bruce scooted him into the computer and moved to stand beside him, effectively boxing him in between himself and the wall. Tim rolled his eyes a bit and pulled up the desktop only to freeze.

“Oh my god. Seriously?”

Bruce frowned and looked at the screen. “Is there a problem?”

Tim let out a laugh that was only a touch manic. “I should say there is. How the hell are you guys still using Windows Vista? And you wonder why you have people hacking your servers. Organized crime lord my ass,” he replied, already half way into the second fire wall, which really was more a speed bump than any sort of protection.

Jason attempted to smother a snort. Bruce’s glare just got harder. A couple more clicks and one well inputted string of data had the entire network open on the screen. Tim scrolled down and brought up the first number inconsistency, tapping the air above the line without touching the glass.

“See how this doesn’t match the previous outputs? It’s been edited, poorly. Someone was in here trying to cover their tracks but it’s obvious just looking how sloppily he works. Now if we just trace the IP address of the account that tried editing this,” he made a few complicated key presses and hit enter, “We find that the one running you into the ground is one Tzeng, Lau located in Guangzhou, China.”

He spun the chair around to look up at Bruce, crossing his arms over his stomach. “I did a little digging and found Mr. Tzeng has been dealing under the table with a few of your main competitors, namely Two-Face and the Penguin. Obviously neither of them knows about the other being in on it, else we’d be in the middle of a gang war right now. But with how poorly this guy is covering his tracks, I wouldn’t count on them staying in the dark for much longer.”

“What’d I tell ya B? He’s so much better than a world’s greatest dad mug or a tie right?” Jason quipped, his grin luminous. He lifted himself onto the desk, swinging his legs. “So can we keep him? Pretty please? Just look at his eyes, he wants to be with us!” He clasped his hands together in a pleading expression.

Bruce sighed. “It’s not that simple Jason. He could be working for our enemies. He could be a Trojan horse.” He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes again.

“That’s where I come in though. He can shadow me and that way we can use him and I get to keep an eye on him. Everyone wins, ain’t that right?” Jason reasoned, frowning a little. “You can’t seriously say you’d rather him on the streets pullin’ shit like this. What if some other group picks him up and tries using him against us?”

Tim cleared his throat, interjecting smoothly, “May I remind you I’m not a cat you found on the side of the road? I do have rights here.”

Both men glanced at him before going back to their argument.

A sudden, unexpected knock cut Bruce off mid rebuttal.

The door cracked open enough for a panting, red faced man to poke his head through. He looked to Bruce and gave a smile far too bright for the late hour. Tim bit his lip. He could have sworn he’d met this man before.

“Sorry to interrupt Mr. Wayne, but I sorta ran into some kid on my way up and he uh…kinda attacked me? I have your coffee and everything, but I was wondering if there was someone I should call because I’ve got the kid restrained out here in the lobby…and I realize this is probably not the time to ask, but if he damaged my desk, do I have to pay for it if I threw him into it?”

Bruce let out a pained groan and buried his face in his hands. “That is my son Damian, Dick,” he replied, exhaustion coloring every syllable. Jason slipped heavily off the desk, barely managing to catch himself in his shock.

He stared at Dick in utter awe. “He…he attacked you and you’re still alive? You won?!” He made a lunge around the desk and threw open the door to race out.

Dick’s eyes widened and he let the door open a bit more to show the lobby behind him. They could just make out Damian’s struggling, screaming figure on the ground behind Jason’s crouching body. It looked like he was taking pictures. Phrases in what sounded like Turkish or Arabic colored the air until Dick gently shut the door. “Uh I’m incredibly sorry sir, but he came outta nowhere! I didn’t hurt him, he’s just sorta tied to a desk leg….but here’s your coffee?” He handed Bruce the to-go cup and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. His eyes darted around the office and landed on Tim.

Tim sucked in a breath. Dick. He knew him. It had been years, but he knew him. Officer John “Call me Dick” Blake, the nice police officer with the outdated mullet who had caught him chasing Mafioso in the dark when he was seventeen. He could still remember how he had made it a habit to drive him home every time he found him out on the streets at night. He gave a small wave and a smile. “Hey Dick, it’s been awhile.” What the hell was he doing here, working under the biggest crime boss on the East coast?

Choking a bit on his coffee in surprise, Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “You two know each other.” It wasn’t a question. Dick laughed nervously.

Tim shrugged a shoulder. “It was a long time ago, I wouldn’t have recognized him if you hadn’t mentioned his name,” he answered simply, spinning idly in the desk chair. Bruce’s stare transferred onto Dick.

“I used to keep an eye on Timmy when he was younger, kept him out of trouble,” Dick added, his hands balled up tightly in his pockets. His eyes looked imploringly at Tim, his trademark smile still as sunny as always. Tim frowned a bit but didn’t say anything. He hadn’t been aware the GCPD had an undercover ops sector, but he knew enough not to blow his cover.

Before Bruce could question them more, Jason took that moment to burst through the door, his face flushed from laughter. He waved his phone over his head in triumph as he wiped his eyes. “I have so much blackmail, this has been a really good night,” he exclaimed, patting Dick on the back. “Great job trussin’ the lil’ demon up like a present, you are all kinds of badass.” He gave him one last pat before moving to lean on Tim’s chair again. “So, B. Can we keep him then? I promise I won’t forget to feed him or anything, scout’s honor,” he promised, eyes bright and face still full of color.

“I’ll just wait out here until you finish up, Mr. Wayne,” Dick opted, quickly darting out of the office before Bruce’s attention returned to him.

Bruce stared at his coffee as if he were wondering if he could take it intravenously. He sagged onto the previous interrogation chair and exhaled. “It’s too late to decide anything concrete right now Jason. We’ll take…Tim…back to base for tonight and figure out a viable course of action tomorrow.”

Jason looked down at Tim, smile growing wider. “You’re name’s Tim? That’s pretty fuckin’ cute pretty bird. How’s about it? You wanna have a sleep over at our place?”

“We’re just going back to Wayne Manor right? Could we stop off at my house first so I can grab some stuff? I live just next door so it’s not out of the way or anything,” he replied, staring straight back into Jason’s face, his own smile razor edged. Jason blinked once, twice, three times before looking at Bruce.

“Did you know we kidnapped the Drake kid from next door?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit the support for this fic has been insane!! id like to thank everyone who has kudo'd and commented and pimped my fic, it means so much to me that my brain child has resonated with you all, and with just the first chapter. i really cant wait to showcase the rest of my work! check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how youre feeling! i love talking about this au and im always eager to answer questions about the universe in depth! until next time~


	3. Chapter 3

//

Dick should have known that being called into the Commissioner’s office first thing on a Monday morning couldn’t mean anything good.

“I’m sending you undercover to infiltrate the Wayne Family mob, Blake. You will be posing as Bruce Wayne’s PA at Wayne Enterprises, a position I might add that was almost impossible to line up.”

Officer Bullock let out a snort at that. “So don’t fuck this up kid. God knows we got enough shit to worry about ‘sides the mountain a’ favors we gotta cash in for that lil’ miracle,” he interjected, going back his donut and file.

Gordon glared at him for a minute before giving up and continuing. “You are to gather Intel on any illegal activity, whether within the company or in the actual mob environment. I don’t care what you have to do to get him to trust you. Do it. The Wayne’s have been running Gotham for as long as I can remember and it’s about time we got enough dirt that a jury can’t be bought off,” the Commissioner plopped a thick manila folder into his lap. “Here’s your briefing papers and your paperwork for WE.”

Dammit, he hated it when he was right. He fumbled for the folder before it could fall. “Are you positive sir? I mean, I haven’t been on the force that long and it’s not like I have any experience with undercover work and my partn-” he rambled before being cut off by Commissioner Gordon’s stoic expression.

“That’s exactly why you’re the best choice for this Dick,” he began, gesturing towards the window overlooking the business district below. “You don’t have a reputation on the streets, for being dirty or being too good at what you do. You’re on nobody’s radar, and your lack of training will make you seem that much less threatening. You have multiple commendations from the Academy recommending you for ops work. And don’t worry about West, I’ve got an office space set up for him until we find him a temporary partner. You’re my best chance at getting a collar on these gangsters son.” He rested an aged hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Can you do this, Dick?”

Dick stared down at the heavy folder in his hands before giving the Commissioner a weak smile, meeting his eye.

“I can try, Sir.”

//

“So…that’s pretty much how it went. I start work at WE Thursday, and I’m supposed to spend all my time ‘til then researching the company and the Wayne’s. They even made me cut my hai….” He trailed off a bit when he noticed his partner’s expression, fingers tangled in his newly cropped hair. “Uh…why are you holding your fork like that Wally?”

Wally’s face was contorted into one of pure rage. His fork was held like a shiv, his mountain of food abandoned. His eyes stayed firmly locked on Dick’s jugular when the cute waitress walked by in her short skirt. Dick gulped and edged back into his seat, holding the dessert menu like a shield.

“I was put on DESK DUTY?!” the normally mellow man roared, reaching across the table in an attempt to strangle and/or stab Dick with tableware.

He let out a manly shriek and dodged, throwing his napkin uselessly at the raging man. “It’s just temporary Wally! I swear! The Commish said he was already looking into a new partner for you! Oh my god, Wally put that down!” he shouted as he narrowly avoided the salt and pepper shaker projectiles.

Wally gripped the table top hard enough for his knuckles to go bone white. “So you’re telling me that while you go gallivanting off with the Wayne mafia and getting into gun fights, I’m going to be stuck behind some fuckin’ desk with a mountain of paperwork until the Commish decides to saddle me down with some probie who wouldn’t know his mace from his chap stick? What part of this is supposed to make me feel better Blake?!” he ground out through gritted teeth. He sagged back into the squeaky diner booth and tugged at his hair.

Dick deflated into his own seat. He reached over to touch Wally’s arm hesitantly. “I didn’t ask for this Wally. Hell, I tried to turn it down. I don’t like this any more than you do, but we’ve gotta try and make the best of it until we can go back to normal,” he reasoned. “And hey, if you’re at headquarters every day, just imagine how much easier it’ll be to win that cute secretary over. You know, the blond with the killer right hook?” He nudged at his partner, trying to get him to perk up a bit.

He didn’t smile, but he stole Dick’s fork and took a big bite of whatever concoction he had created on his plate, which was a good sign.

“’Er name’s Ar’emis, ge’ it righ’” he mumbled through his mouthfuls and Dick beamed.

“See buddy? It’ll be fine. This probably won’t even last that long. I mean, how hard can it be to get the big guy to spill his guts to me?”

 oOo

Dick had no idea how he was supposed to get Bruce Wayne to spill his guts to him. From the first day on the job, Dick barely saw the man -let alone spoke to him- past the rushed introduction. Any requests were made through email or the intercom thing on his desk phone, and those were for coffee runs, appointment notices, or schedule changes, not for nefarious gang related activities. Two weeks in and the most he had accomplished was getting Bruce to call him Dick instead of Mr. Grayson, and part of him figured he had only agreed because it saved time.

He doubted Gordon really thought the whole PA thing through when he organized the operation to be honest. He spent more time filing than anything, and he didn’t know the first step to getting in with the Boss without being suspicious or coming on to him. Dick fervently hoped that Bullock hadn’t seriously been implying he should sleep with Wayne when he told him in the station to do what he had to for the collar. As attractive as Gotham’s most eligible bachelor objectively was, Dick didn’t think he had it in him. That level of duplicity was something he wasn’t even remotely comfortable with.

That wasn’t to say though that he wasn’t trying.

In between running errands, Dick immersed himself with the tabloids, the interviews, the gossip chains, and the files Gordon had included in his briefing; anything that mentioned his new boss was read and noted, with anything he felt worthwhile kept in a nondescript binder that never left his side.

There were plenty of public records on the Wayne Family. The media treated the Wayne’s like celebrities, reporting on their attendance to public events, scandals involving rumored relationships and legal allegations, and even fashion faux pas. Most of it was a load of crap, but even sensationalistic drama pieces contained some legitimate information.

Most papers portrayed them as Gotham’s version of Robin Hood, running the underground from above and evading the police, like a modern day Bonnie and Clyde but decidedly more _Godfather_ -esque. The affluent citizens, the ones that never dealt with street violence or gang war repercussions, adored the portrait the media painted, likening it to the dramas shown on television or old school mobster movies. Any socialite event attended or sponsored by a Wayne was an automatic success. To be on the Family’s VIP list was the highest of bragging rights.

But the papers catered towards the lower class, the ones that were caught in the cross fires of turf wars and the ones the drug traffickers flocked to, held a much more negative view. For them, there was no rosy ideal of the attractive mob family skirting the law to better the city. There were dead family members, destroyed homes, and the constant fear that the shaky power balance would be tipped and send the entire city into chaos.

It was hard for him to align the dichotomous images the media used with workaholic Bruce Wayne, a man that wore impeccably pressed suits and commanded the attention of an entire room and needed reminders to eat periodically or to be notified that it was far past the time to go home for the night.

Gordon’s files read as much less opinionated and contained far fewer embellishments. By the Organized Crime Task Force’s best estimate, there were currently around 1,000 soldiers under Wayne control at any given time. The inner family’s numbers were unknown, but Jason “Red Hood” Todd-Wayne (age 21, adopted by Bruce as a child and his primary heir) and Damian “The Demon” Wayne (age unknown but estimated 14-18, Bruce’s biological son, mother unknown) were thought to be high ranking made’s. The Wayne’s territory was unknown but best estimates placed it as occupying roughly a third of the city. The actual avenues of business the Family controlled were marked also as unknown, but pharmaceutical drug smuggling and racketeering were suspected. There were no known affiliations with other high rollers, and no solid convictions to date.

The OCTF wanted Dick to fill in the information blanks and get enough dirt for a solid case.

He had no clue how to work his way into the Family’s trust, no concrete evidence to follow, not even Wally’s sarcastic voice in his ear to help get his ass in gear. He only had an office, an intercom thing on his desk phone, and the Commissioner depending on him to come through on the collar.

So he read the files and made his notes and forwarded Bruce’s calls. He’d figure out a way to get an in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nice to get some of dick's side of the story right? dont be surprised when the pov switches like this, we'll be seeing most of their positions as we go. im currently at a convention this weekend and i didnt bring my laptop so i may be slow on responding to comments and questions. ill get to them as much as i can in my down time, so please bear with me!! check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) if you wanna chat or send me some love. until next time~


	4. Chapter 4

The key card swiped through the sensor and Dick carefully opened the door with an elbow, sliding past the frame without jostling the coffee precariously cradled in each hand. Six weeks into his new job and he still could not believe the hours Mr. Wayne kept, or the hours the coffee shop down the street kept for that matter. He jabbed at the elevator button with a foot and took a sip from his venti double shot caramel macchiato with whipped cream. It was pushing two in the morning and there seemed to be no end in sight for whatever big project Mr. Wayne had been slaving over in his office since the early morning, or Dick’s continued coffee runs.

The lift took its time returning from the office level and Dick used the lull to lean against the wall and yawn. Vaguely, in the part of his mind still free from the cobwebs of exhaustion, wondered why it hadn’t just stayed on the ground floor since he was the only one cleared besides Bruce to use it. And knowing that workaholic, he most likely hadn’t used it to take a break or go home like a sane person. The ding sounded and the doors opened and Dick dragged himself inside, taking another deep pull from his sweet, sweet caffeine while he kicked the correct floor button.

With the soft music and low lights, Dick found himself fighting to not fall asleep against the wood paneling. There wasn’t much excitement in being a PA, even one for the city’s most prominent mob boss. No guns fights, no car chases, no illicit drug transactions that he could report on; from what he had observed so far, everything remained on the up and up. Sure, there were some hushed phone calls and unscheduled business meetings with unnamed clients, but that was nothing solid to go on, and he discovered the second day in that the office door was sound proofed. He idly watched the floor lights change and let out a sigh when it finally lit on 21. Maybe it was time to just tell the Commissioner to try something else. He really didn’t know how much more filing he could stand before he went stir crazy.

The lobby was just as dim and desolate as he had left it, the meager light from his work station the only beacon in the shadowy room. Despite his efforts, the scope of his information gathering hadn’t extended past the waiting room. The most he had accomplished was counting the number of tiles on the ceiling (118) and naming all of the deceptively cheerful fake plants situated between the few waiting chairs against the wall (Keith, Shirley, and Betty). He figured he could plot every shadow and vague lump in the room with a familiarity born of hours of idle staring.

Which made Dick surprised to see an unfamiliar shadow leap out from behind a chair at him, shouting in a language he could only guess was Middle Eastern in origin.

“Kul khara kanith!”

He had his training and Wally’s tantrums to thank for giving him the reflexes that made it possible for him to dodge so suddenly while sleep deprived. Quickly ducking away, Dick came up into a crouch, glancing down to check that the coffee in his hands hadn't spilled over before turning back to regard his assailant.

His first impression was that he had been attacked by some kind of tiny ninja. The man (he hesitated to call the person that, but the voice was decidedly masculine despite its higher pitch) stood at maybe 5 foot 7 in the middle of the office lobby, body held in a position that looked anything but harmless in the shadowy expanse. Dick slowly walked backwards, setting the coffees behind his desk without breaking eye contact.

“Something tells me you aren’t the cleaning lad-”

He had apparently been attacked by a rude ninja. The intruder lunged, cutting him off with a narrowly avoided strike to the throat. Dick ducked and grabbed the extended arm, using the man’s momentum to pull him off balance. They fell together into a tangle of flailing, kicking limbs onto the desk. Pens and sticky note pads littered the floor and Dick fought to keep himself on top. The desk lamp wobbled precariously with the force of the struggle and tipped, flooding his attacker’s face with light.

Young features, dark skin, and a glare that could melt steel hissed up at him before the lamp was smacked away, taking with it the main source of light in the room. The realization that the intruder was a kid almost had Dick faltering. They grappled on the slim surface of the desk and Dick could tell the kid was trained, lethal even, from the harsh jabs connecting inches from his pressure points. It was taking all of his sleep-starved concentration to avoid the hits. He grimaced and used his weight and gravity to restrict the kid’s movements enough to get a grip on the slick material of his jacket. With a harsh pull, he managed to flip them both over the edge and onto the floor in hopes that the shock of the fall would give him an advantage.

They landed with a muted thud and Dick could feel the kid’s diaphragm flutter as his breath was punched out of his lungs. Taking advantage of the brief stutter in his assault, Dick tangled his leg with the kid’s and forced him onto his stomach, pining his shoulders to the cold floor with a readily placed knee. It was a standard submission hold taught in the basic self-defense courses at the academy and the actions came naturally.

Once the kid got his air back though, it was like trying to keep down a bull; an angry, angry bull with a vocabulary that bordered on the obscene.

“Jesus Christ kid, what the hell do you think you’re doing attacking a guy like that? Better yet, what the hell are you doing up here? This is a restricted area,” Dick panted out, using one hand to pin the flailing wrists to a spot in front of his knee and the other going to his belt buckle. “Do you speak English? Any at all?”

At the sound of the clinking metal the kid seemed to freeze for a moment. He craned his head back and Dick could see his eyes widen in shock at the sight of him removing the belt. It took him a moment to understand the look of abject horror on the kid’s face, but realization struck and he could feel his ears burn. He felt himself choke on his lecture.

The kid began bucking in earnest now, swearing up a storm of foreign mixed English blasphemy that Dick could only vaguely follow. “Oh my God, Kid, no! I’m not-I would nev-I’m using it as a restrai-Oh wow, okay no that sounds worse, oh wow, yeah, no I’m just, I need to contain you so I can figure out whether to call the cops or not, just…” he rambled a bit manically. He tried to keep it apparent that he was not going to do anything shady as he pulled the kid upright, binding his wrists together with the belt before looping it around the heavy desk leg in front of them. He was having one hell of a night and he swore to himself that he wouldn’t complain about the paperwork if this kind of experience was the alternative. This was way beyond his pay grade.

His chest heaving, Dick shakily got to his feet amidst the colorful ethnic cursing of a language he still could not identify. He carefully edged past the snarling bundle of bound adolescent at the foot of his desk to snag the coffee he prayed to God was still hot and knocked lightly on the office door before poking his head inside.

Bruce was in mid argument with a man Dick assumed was Jason Todd. A younger, slighter man -maybe eighteen or nineteen- sat in the large office chair behind the desk, spinning idly as he observed the fight. Three pairs of eyes fixed on him and he gave a bright smile.

“Sorry to interrupt Mr. Wayne, but I sorta ran into some kid on my way up and he uh…kinda attacked me? I have your coffee and everything, but I was wondering if there was someone I should call because I’ve got the kid restrained out here in the lobby…and I realize this is probably not the time to ask, but if he damaged my desk, do I have to pay for it since I threw him into it?”

Bruce buried his face in one hand and sighed.

“That is my son Damian, Dick.”

Dick felt his already flushed face burn hotter. He had just hogtied his boss’s kid. To a desk. He was so fired.

Jason, who was perched on the large desk, slipped off, eyes wide and his shock apparent. “He…he attacked you and you’re still alive? You won?!” He threw himself over the desk and sprinted past Dick and out into the lobby. Dick opened the door wider and peered out, managing to see Jason kneeling besides the screaming boy with what looked like a camera phone. He moved to run his hand through his hair but stopped, remembering the coffee.

“Uh I’m incredibly sorry sir, but he came outta nowhere! I didn’t hurt him, he’s just sorta tied to a desk leg….but here’s your coffee?” He handed over the to-go cup and rubbed his neck awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with his soon to be ex-boss. His eyes roamed the office and fixed on the other occupant. It took a moment to place the face and another to feel the lump of dread realization plummet into his stomach.

It was Timmy. Little Timmy Drake, with the empty brownstone and the penchant for photographing mafiosos.

Dick could see the exact moment recognition filled Tim’s eyes and he readied himself to lie like his life depended on it.

“Hey Dick, it’s been awhile,” Tim said, eyes burning with curiosity though his voice was level. Dick felt relief pour through him. He hadn’t used his officer name. He could make this work, as long as Tim didn’t give him up.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed and he lowered the cup from his lips.

“You two know each other.”

Dick gave a nervous laugh and watched as Tim shrugged, as cool as a cucumber.

“It was a long time ago, I wouldn’t have recognized him if you hadn’t mentioned his name,” he answered simply, spinning idly in the desk chair. Bruce’s stare returned to Dick. He swallowed and shuffled a bit, willing his voice to sound nonchalant.

“I used to keep an eye on Timmy when he was younger, kept him out of trouble,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. Bruce’s stare gave away nothing, and Dick thanked every deity in the world when Jason sidled back into the office, errantly wiping the tears from his eyes in delight. He clapped him on the shoulder, thanking him for the blackmail material, before jumping back up onto the desk. He took it as an opening to make his exit.

“I’ll just wait out here until you finish up, Mr. Wayne,” he said, flashing a smile and retreating as calmly as he could. He sighed in relief when there was no response. Dick shut the office door behind him and flicked on the lobby light. The boy, Damian, was right where Dick had left him; tied up and spitting curses. He ignored him for the most part and instead began gathering the scattered office supplies into a neat pile on his now upright chair.

Dick had only babysat a couple of times over the years, mostly for friends and neighbors, and they always told him the same thing. If a kid is throwing a tantrum, the best way to diffuse it is to ignore them until they decide to behave. Of course, those kids were all under ten years old and he usually crumpled like wet tissue paper after the first five minutes of crying but he figured the rule might work in this situation.

“Shem et Duat, you fucking mzghabah! I will use the wood from this fucking desk to build your fucking coffin, ya mnyakah!”

Then again with a mouth like that maybe not.

“You know, when I was a kid I’d have been eating soap for a week if I spoke like that to adults,” he remarked idly, straightening the bundle of papers on his chair while giving the teenager a disapproving look.

“Hottaha fi teezak!”

The answering glare expressed exactly where he could file those papers. Dick rolled his eyes and sat next to Damian’s prone figure on the floor, snagging his own lukewarm coffee and taking a large swallow. When he took this job he never expected to have to hogtie the son of Gotham’s most powerful mob boss to his office desk with a belt at three in the morning. He figured it was a sign that it was long past the time when he should just call it a night.

But, Dick realized as he watched the boy yank at the desk leg, face red and mouth still dripping with curses, that this could be an opportunity. He was making zero progress with Mr. Wayne, so why shouldn’t he try getting in with his son?

“If you continue to stare at me with such intent I will gouge out your eyes.”

Dick snapped his attention back to the present and internally winced. If he was going to try the new approach he needed to fix the frankly piss poor first impression he had made.

“Uh, sorry. So. My name’s Dick Grayson, I work for your dad,” he offered, using the smile he reserved for the more belligerent domestic calls. “If you promise to calm down I’ll untie you. Deal?”

Dick had never seen an expression so sour it could curdle milk.

“Are you fucking addled?” Damian seethed, baring his teeth in an infuriated hiss. “Why the fuck would I lower myself to accepting aid from some lowly lapdog of my father’s?” He had twisted himself sometime along the way to rest on his knees, probably out of some kind of attempt to not appear as vulnerable. Dick could see the angry red dents forming on his wrists from the amount of strain that maneuver had caused.

“Well sorry to say it kiddo but this lapdog kicked your ass, it happens, so cool it with the pride and I’ll untie you. That can’t be comfortable on your wrists and I really don’t want you hurting,” he reasoned, keeping his voice calm and as non-patronizing as possible. He moved to his knees and scooted closer to Damian.

“Stop. Calling. Me. A. Child,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “I am almost seventeen, I am considered an adult in my country and I will not be spoken to in such a manner.” Damian took in deep breaths through his teeth, and Dick couldn’t tell if it was to help him calm down or to help deal with the pain his whitening hands must be causing him. “But as I am losing all semblance of feeling in my hands I…I will not attack you. You have my word, Grayson.”

“Well that would make my night easier. And you can call me Dick,” he said, moving into a better angle to work on the leather binding. “And…sorry about the age thing. When you get as old as me you start calling anyone under twenty a kid,” Dick admitted with an apologetic smile and began working on undoing the belt. He struggled a bit with the buckle and let out a constant stream of apologies at every muted noise Damian tried to hide as the leather shifted on his bruising skin. “Christ this is bad, why the hell did you keep yanking at this?”

As soon as he was free Dick immediately reached for Damian’s hands to check the damage. He gripped his forearms gently and tugged up his sleeves, biting his lip at the thick bracelet of bruises already circling Damian’s narrow wrists. Damian had eased off his knees to sit more solidly on the floor and made no move to remove his hands from Dick’s, or even to curse at him for taking his sweet time freeing him. He merely sat and stared at the hands gently cradling his wrists, his brow furrowed.

Dick smoothed his thumb lightly over the inflamed skin and tried to catch Damian’s eye. “Hey, talk to me, you okay? I can find you some ic-” he began to ask as the office door opened and its occupants filed out.

Jason’s voice was the first to greet them and it seemed to snap Damian out of whatever reverie he had been caught in. His wrists were abruptly pulled out of Dick’s lax grip.

“-on’t get how you didn’t know this was the kid next door, shouldn’t you know your neighbors?” he lectured, and Dick felt his heart leap into his throat when Jason leveled his somewhat annoyed gaze on him. “Help me out here, hot secretary. You’d think the bossman here would know something like that right?”

Dick went wide eyed in confusion and pointed to himself, as if there was another secretary in the room to which he could be referring.

“You see any other bangable secretary in the general vicinity? Yes, dipshit, you,” Jason said with an eye roll. Tim, who was forcibly plastered against Jason’s side gave a faux pout and pinched the arm locked around his waist.

“So you flirt with all the guys? And here I was thinking I was special.”

Jason’s response was abruptly cut off by a despair-ridden sigh from Bruce, bringing all attention back onto the exhausted man.

“Jason, stop harassing my staff, Timothy, stop encouraging his already deplorable behavior, Damian, escort Dick home,” he ordered, already making his way to the elevator without a backwards glance. Dick straightened at the mention of his name and tried to refuse.

“Uh, Mr. Wayne, I really don’t need an escor-” he began, only to be cut off.

Bruce hit the call button and shrugged his suit jacket back on. “You either walk or take the bus to work and the bus stopped running five hours ago. Damian will escort you to your apartment, it is not up for debate.” The elevator dinged and he stepped in, Jason and the trapped Tim following after a suspiciously silent Damian. Resignation slumped his shoulders as he nodded. He quickly gathered his battered messenger bag from behind his desk and squeezed into the elevator, dreading the long ride down.

For the majority of the trip, Jason bantered with Tim about his unshakable devotion, accompanied by a lurid description of Tim’s attributes. After a couple minutes, Bruce took pity on everyone else, smacking Jason upside the head, thus ending any attempts at further conversation aside from Jason’s pained muttering. The atmosphere was heavy and Dick resisted the urge to babble or appear uncomfortable. The elevator eventually dinged and Dick swore he had never heard a sound quite as beautiful in his life.

He and Damian exited a few floors before the others to take the ground level exit out and Dick was grateful to feel the oppressive weight lift slightly at their departure. Damian was still a silent presence in his periphery, studiously ignoring all of his nervous chatter as they made their way down the dimly lit streets. He was surprised to find it such a comfort.

Dick was used to walking the short trip to work and back alone, but never this late at night. The yellow-tinged street lights threw the surrounding architecture into a shadowed quagmire of half-seen movements, the horror stories he use to hear as a beat cop fueling the paranoia that something was liable to jump at them from the darkness. Damian’s quiet, unimpressed expression was calming in an odd way, making Dick feel that even if something were to happen that Damian would be ready.

The thought brought Dick back to their scuffle. Damian was skilled. Incredibly so, considering his age. He looked more closely at the teenager, taking in the smooth gait, the posture that looked at first glance relaxed but was actually primed, his every muscle ready to respond to any perceived threat or situation. Frankly, Dick was a bit surprised that he had won.

He turned them down another street, this one along a main road and coincidentally, better lit. “I, uh, I really appreciate you walking me home. I know you probably have better things to do, like sleep or something, but really, thank you. You didn’t have to, so, thanks,” he chattered, trying to prompt some sort of conversation or acknowledgement from the stoic teenager.

Damian glanced at him for a moment before giving a noncommittal grunt. Dick counted it as a sign to continue talking.

“So…Damian, can I ask where you were trained?” he asked after tapering off his random nervous babble.

The silence stretched past the normal point of an expected reply and Dick bit his lip, prepared to resume his chatting when Damian, still staring straight ahead, spoke.

“My mother. In Istanbul.”

It was succinct and gave little beyond what was asked, but Dick was ecstatic nevertheless.

“Istanbul as in Turkey? Wow, that’s really cool. You’re really good, she did a good job,” he said, hoping to spur an actual, non-explicit conversation from the teenager. “So was that all Turkish that you were shouting at me before? I couldn’t really place the language.”

Damian bit his lip and grimaced. “Arabic. I…should not have been so vulgar to you. I said very inappropriate things and…I apologize,” he bit out, still refusing to make eye contact. He glared at Dick when he realized he had stopped walking to gape. “Is there something unclear about what I have just said? You bested me, is this not the proper way to proceed?” he asked, tone still somewhat hostile, a little defensive. A little uncomfortable. Poor kid was probably completely new to apologizing.

“No, I mean, yeah this is a good way to proceed! I don’t really know what you were calling me but I appreciate the sentiment,” Dick sputtered, flustered. His hands gestured as he spoke and he could feel the smile tugging at his cheeks.

Damian rolled his eyes and resumed walking. “Are we nearing your home?” he asked as Dick jogged a bit to catch up.

“Yeah, I’m right here actually,” he said, pointing to the apartment building a bit further up. They made it to the front steps and Dick let his hand rest on the door knob, looking back to Damian. “Uh, do you want to come up for a bit?” he asked. “I can make coffee or do I don’t know, something as thanks.”

The widening eyes had Dick rewinding the words in his head and cursing. He smacked a hand against his face and groaned, realizing just how tired he was in that moment. “And by that I meant would you like some coffee or a drink before you go home. Also, would you like to wait inside if you’re going to call someone to pick you up. I did not mean for that to come off like that. Jesus, I just keep traumatizing you tonight, feel free to shut me up at any time here,” he said, his hands still firmly glued to his face.

He wasn’t prepared for the kid to actually laugh. Lowering his hands slowly, and a bit suspiciously, he looked at the teenager.

Damian was standing at the bottom of the steps, hands in his pockets, with a small smile on his face and laughing quietly. Dick was awestruck.

“I do not need to call a car, and I do not require a drink, though your...offer is appreciated,” he replied, the ghost of the smile still flitting across his lips. He turned and began walking back the way they had come. Dick stood, his hand on the knob, and watched him move confidently towards the shadows.

“Well, goodnight, Damian,” he called, still a little overwhelmed. The kid seemed almost…charming when he smiled. It was the first time Dick noticed any resemblance to the flashy public figure his father made.

The resemblance was so surprising that he almost didn’t catch the quiet reply.

“And you, Grayson.”

It felt like he had only just collapsed face-first into his bed when the bright, blinding midmorning sunlight cast its cheerful rays right into his retinas. Dick groaned, snatching his cell phone from under his pillow to check the time only to groan louder at the equally cheerful numbers blinking at him from his lock screen.

8:23 a.m.

Four hours of sleep and his morning-loving internal clock had woken him up just in time to enjoy the daybreak. He wrestled himself free of the tangle of sheets, knowing the futility of attempting to go back to sleep, and wandered into his small kitchen while scratching idly at his stomach. He wondered when exactly he had lost his shirt. Probably somewhere between locking up and brushing his teeth. Dick was all too aware of his inability to keep track of his clothing past four in the morning.

Pulling things from his fridge and pantry on autopilot, he set about to making breakfast. He was halfway through frying up some eggs when he heard the shuffling and clatter of someone moving around in his living room. Any traces of drowsiness evaporated with the sudden burst of adrenaline jetting straight to his heart. Quietly, Dick moved his pan off the burner and switched the stovetop off, snatching an empty cast iron skillet from the rack hanging over the range. There was a definite risk of making enemies given his current occupational situation and he really wished he was the type of person to keep a weapon in every room, just for situations like this.

There were certain times in his life where he was incredibly grateful towards the police academy. Being under threat of an early morning home invasion while in his boxers had him falling back into the easy routine of his training, silently following the wall and peering into his living room where he could see a figure fiddling with his stereo set up out of the corner of his eye. Dick took a moment to fix his grip on the skillet and school his breathing before creeping around the corner, determined to keep the element of surprise on his side.

“You’re taste in music is abhorrent, Grayson.”

Dick froze, nearly losing his grip on his makeshift weapon. Damian Wayne was in his living room at nine in the morning rifling through his cd collection. His mind went double time as he struggled to recall if he had left his badge, gun, or case files out in the open, if there was a possibility he had been compromised somehow. The teenager tsked at each cd he pulled down, his back still to Dick and completely at ease with casual home invasion if his relaxed posture and fresh suit were any indication. He hoped it was just that and not an early morning hit.

Dick bristled. “ABBA is a classic,” he defended, tossing the skillet under a pillow while Damian still had his back to him. Playing it cool seemed the best option until he established whether or not he actually needed a weapon.

Damian scoffed, his derision an audible thing. “I was referring to the ‘Best of Queen’ collection you seem to have on a veritable pedestal. In which decade are you living, Grayson?” he asked, turning his head back enough to look at Dick, his eyebrow raising in judgment at his music and, more than likely, his ratty sleep boxers.

Dick became suddenly, horribly aware of his conspicuous lack of clothing and shuffled towards the pile of questionably clean laundry piled on the chair against the far wall. He surreptitiously tucked the partially exposed uniform shirt deeper into the pile under the premise of looking for some pants.

“Okay, that’s actually not mine, that’s my friend’s, so do not give me the judging stares, Mr. I-Like-to-Pounce-On-People-In-The-Dark. Also, while we’re at it, care to tell me what you’re doing breaking into my apartment?” he asked with a cheerfully faux tone as he tugged on a pair of jeans.

Damian tossed the cd back onto the stereo stand and turned to face him, arms crossed and hip resting against the shelf, the complete picture of unrepentant sincerity. Dick resisted the urge to flinch.

“I would not go as far as to call circumventing your antiquated deadbolt ‘breaking’ into your apartment. That would entail some measure of practical security was in place first,” he remarked blithely, eyes never leaving Dick’s body as he tugged on an undershirt. His eyes flicked up to meet Dick’s. “And did you not invite me up only hours ago? I was not aware that the offer had an expiration.”

Dick resisted the urge to roll his eyes, pulling his arms into a button up shirt that was only somewhat wrinkled. “It’s kind of impressive that you managed to insult me and evade my question,” he said, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame his bed head, giving his nervous hands an outlet. He walked back towards the kitchen, calling out behind him, “I’m gonna finish making my breakfast now since I know you’re not some cat burglar intent on stealing my frankly awesome music collection.”

He didn’t check to see if Damian was following him as he made his way back to the stove, pulling the half cooked eggs back onto the burner and resuming cooking. If he hadn’t done something when he had his guard down, he probably was only here for a social call, or whatever the mob assassin equivalent was. It was when he turned to grab the bread that he saw that at some point Damian had made himself comfortable in one of his barstools, elbows on the counter and hands folded beneath his chin as he watched him rattle around.

“My father sent me to collect you,” he remarked, dark eyes following his every movement. “He has some pressing matter for which he would wish your input.” Damian watched Dick transfer his eggs to a plate and sit in the stool across from him, nose wrinkling slightly at the extra glass of orange juice he slid over to him.

The relief was almost tangible and a quick mouthful of eggs cut off any verbal signal he was about to make. “Me? What would he need to ask me about?” he asked around a bite of toast. He may be the man’s P.A. but he was treated more like a glorified secretary, transferring calls and making coffee runs. This was the first instance of Bruce Wayne ever needing him for anything resembling a private matter. It was hard to keep his excitement in. If he played this well, it could turn into the opening he’d been waiting for.

Damian shrugged and tapped a finger against the glass of juice contemplatively. “I believe it has to do with the stray Todd picked up, but I didn’t find the situation worth my attention so I cannot be certain,” he answered off handedly, taking a cautionary sip of the drink. Dick’s eyes zeroed in on his wrist when the motion hitched up the sleeve of his suit. He lowered his fork, appetite vanishing at the sight of the dark, mottled purple peeking out from beneath the fabric. Damian followed his stare to his exposed wrist and frowned. “Are you still preoccupied with this?” he asked, setting down the glass to unbutton his cuff, fully showcasing the extent of the injury. “I assure you I have received worse, this is of no consequence.”

Dick bit his lip and shoved his plate to the side. He reached out and gently gripped Damian’s wrist like he had the night before, fingers ghosting over the bracelet of bruises. “Shockingly, that doesn’t make me feel better, Damian. I shouldn’t have hurt you like this, even if you did try to hurt me first.”

Damian frowned in consternation, his eyes locked on their hands for a moment before he tugged his wrist away and stood. “It is in the past. Come, there is a car waiting,” he said, turning towards the doorway. Dick blinked at the abrupt exit and pushed himself to his feet, setting his plate in the sink and grabbing a jacket hanging on the back of a chair before he followed after.

“You may not care but I do, Damian,” he conveyed, shrugging on the jacket and locking the door behind them. “Honestly I’m kinda surprised you aren’t pissed at me. You don’t seem to be the kind of person to be content leaving the other guy standing.”

Damian regarded him coolly and opened the rear door of the innocuous black car, gesturing with his head for Dick to slide in.

“There are exceptions to every rule,” he replied, sliding in beside him, the door snapping closed like an audible punctuation deterring further conversation.

For the life of him, Dick had no idea what to make of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man this one was a long one! we'll cut back to tim's pov in the next chapter. hope you guys enjoyed this, i remember fucking dying when i wrote it. anyway, until next time!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back in the jaytim side of things. im really loving the response this is getting, you guys brighten up my day so much. anyways, enjoy~

“So you single?”

Tim startled a bit, his grip on his duffle bag fumbling for a moment. “Excuse me?”

Jason reclined further into Tim’s bed, his arms crossed behind his head and a large grin on his face. “Do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Non-heteronormative gender conforming paramour?” he clarified, an eyebrow cocking in a way that should come off as ridiculous but only seemed charming in a way that was utterly Jason. “We already established that your folks are a no show, reason would dictate that you’ve got at least a special someone ‘round to fill the void.”

Jason Todd-Wayne. Who was on his bed, in his bedroom, and asking him about his relationship status. Tim took a breath and smiled his sharp, unreadable smile and began packing his bag.

“’Cause I’m sittin’ here looking at your room and it’s about as informative as your poker face. Gotta give me a hint here, I don’t wanna be poachin’ if you already got someone else you photograph during the day,” he drawled, cocking his head as he watched Tim pull clothes from his closet.

“I spend my nights photographing mobsters, Jason. You found me on top of a roof. What on earth makes you think that anyone would willingly let me photograph them during the day?” he replied as he folded flannel after flannel. “And it’s not like my parents abandoned me here, they just have really travel-intensive hobbies, not that it’s any of your business,” Tim defended. At this point he wasn’t sure if it was acceptance or just indifference that made the statement sound normal, without any of the bitterness that had so violently colored his formative years. Either way, it wasn’t something he liked to ruminate on. He quickly deflected, forcing the focus back onto his packing. “This should only take what, a week tops? I don’t know how much to pack here.”

Jason sat up onto his elbows and gave him a look and the out. “You might as well bring all of it, pretty bird. I was serious when I said I was keeping you.”

Tim tried to glare but that found that doing so required maintaining eye contact with the man languidly stretched out on his bedspread. “And I was serious when I said I wasn’t some cat you found on the side of the road,” he countered even as he grabbed for more clothes.

He could feel the rebuttal building on Jason’s tongue but a sudden ringing cut him off. Jason grimaced and pulled a battered cell phone from his pocket, his grimace turning pained at the caller ID. He sat up fully, rising off the bed to go out into the hallway with a quick “Sorry, pretty bird, Demon’s having a crisis.” Before closing the door behind him, he stopped, looking back at Tim. “Which reminds me, I’m gonna need your cellphone,” he requested with an apologetic look.

Tim raised an eyebrow in slight disbelief as he fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and deposited it into Jason’s outstretched hand. “Shouldn’t you have taken this when you first grabbed me? What if I had called the cops during any of the many moments where my hands weren’t restrained?” he asked critically, enjoying the look of realization as it appeared on Jason’s face.

Jason shot him an unamused frown that did little to stop his smiling, as if he had personally offended him by questioning his kidnapping tactics. The ringing that had been sounding throughout the exchange ended suddenly, promptly taking with it any retort Jason would have offered. “Shit,” he muttered, “I really gotta deal with this, hold tight.”

He waited all of a minute to drop the shirt in his hands before he was pressed against the door, hoping to catch some hint at what was going on. The door wasn’t exactly thick, just solid enough to make distinguishing words difficult, but thin enough that Jason’s deep tenor was audible. After a few moments of muffled cursing over what Tim could only assume was the state of Jason’s incredibly out of date keypad, he was able to call Damian back.

“Sorry, bad timing, what’s u…No I wasn’t “fornicating with the prisoner,” what century do you think this is? What’s got your panties in a twist this time?…I told you that’s what it meant, not my fault you didn’t believe me….Holy shit, he invited you up?! What did you say?! Jesus I feel like I should be relieved since he’s gotta be older than me but damn Dami, I’m disappointed in you, dude’s gotta choice ass….What, you gonna tell me you weren’t looking too? Whatever, I’m still with pretty bird right now, we can talk about your betrothed when we get back. B wants to meet with us soon as we both get in, just fyi….yeah, yeah, I know, I’ll keep an eye on him….stay safe, Demon.”

Tim silently darted away from the door, snatching the fallen shirt and making as if he had been packing the entire time. It only took another minute or so for Jason to reenter, shoving his ancient cell back in his pocket as he chuckled, good mood obviously restored.

“Damian’s having a meltdown because emotions and I wanna go make fun of him in person—that is, if you’re done packing and criticizing my abduction methods,” he asked, shuffling over to peer into the rapidly filling bag. Tim had packed the majority of his clothes, some basic toiletries, and his laptop and various electronic paraphernalia. Jason poked at his collection of external hard drives and let out a low whistle. “Damn, just how much storage space do you need?”

The bag zipped shut and Tim flashed a smile. “I can’t say I’ll ever be done making fun of you, so you should probably get used to it sooner rather than later,” he admitted, voice dripping with mirth. “And I need the space for all the photos of my boyfriend, Jason. Well, that and all of the juicy little things I’ve found while digging around in your servers,” he said, voice just this side of sarcastic as he shouldered the heavy duffle. “Did you know Mr. Wayne has an entire series of subfolders on you?”

Jason’s eyes widened minutely and the answering grin could only be described as wolfish.

“I am definitely keeping you.”

oOo

“I had Alfie set you up just down the hall from me, just in case you get lonely during the night,” Jason informed him while gesturing towards the room on the left. The space was dark but Tim could make out the blocky shapes of posters covering the walls and a guitar stand in the visible corner. His attempts at gaining a closer look were in vain though as Jason pulled him along behind him, stopping a few yards down the hall in front of the room Tim could only assume was his for the foreseeable future.

The short trip from the Drake’s to Wayne Manor hadn’t take long enough for Tim. The car ride had been fraught with thinly veiled innuendo and Jason’s natural charm and the ten minute drive did nothing to help him compose himself, something that he knew the elderly butler at the door noticed when he asked for his jacket. Jason had introduced him as “Alfie” and the butler had corrected him with a demure “Alfred, if you would be as kind, young master.”

Alfred was nicer than any maid or nanny Tim had ever met growing up and he found himself oddly grateful for the gesture. He wasn’t looking forward to his stay at the Wayne Manor, but the kind, reserved manner of the butler lowered his reservations about keeping company with infamous mobsters without a camera and a good thirty feet of distance between them. Not that Jason was all that intimidating; he had spent a good portion of the ride alternating between making classic lit pick-up lines (and Heaven help him, some of them were _good_ ) and cursing over the shitty keyboard on his outdated cellphone. The man didn’t even have a touch screen, so Tim found it a little hard to consider him a potential threat.

Jason opened the door with a flourish and gently nudged Tim inside, breaking his reverie. He shut the door behind him and tossed the duffle he had insisted on carrying onto the bed before flopping down beside it. Tim took in the comfortable furnishings, the pale green of the walls and the warm oak paneling and decidedly avoided the six foot plus of mobster lounging on the olive and cream bedspread.

“So whatcha think? A bit bland for my taste but Alfie’s proud of his Martha Stewart touch. If you don’t like it though, you’re more than welcome to bunk with me,” Jason offered. Tim was beginning to fear that the wolfish grin was a permanent fixture on the man’s face. Hiding his flustered state was beginning to take conscious effort and Tim tugged his bag closer to the bed’s edge and began unpacking his laptop and pajamas, setting them on the space not occupied by Jason’s reclined body.

“Am I now? That’s rather hospitable of you,” Tim began, unpacking the carefully folded clothes and depositing them into the room’s dresser.

“I’m a perfect gentleman, both in and out of my bedroom. Politeness is a lost art.” It should be impossible for a notorious criminal to preen, but that was exactly what Jason was doing when he turned back to fold up the empty bag. Even though he was stretched out languidly and nonchalantly, it was obvious with how he was holding himself—throat bared to draw the eye, shirt ever so slightly pulled up to expose a sliver of skin, one knee crooked at an angle to draw attention to his legs and crotch—that he was definitely giving visual aid to just how nice he could be. His body language was screaming his invitation and Tim felt a little part of himself die inside at the unfairness of it all. This was officially the worst day of his life.

Fingers clenching into stiff canvas, he went to the closet with an idea forming in his head. Jason was obviously getting far, far too comfortable on the bed for Tim’s blood pressure to handle for much longer, and with no convenient distractions or emergencies to call him away, Tim was going to have to do something drastic to level the playing field. He just needed an excuse to get Jason to look away for a few moments.

The standing closet in the room wasn’t as large as the walk-in one in his own home, but it was tall and ornate, with the shelving much higher than what he was used to. He folded the bag smaller and reached for the top shelf, trying hopelessly to slip the bag in. He could feel Jason’s eyes on him as he struggled, and he gave out an exaggerated huff of irritation. Turning, and with an innocently pleading look, Tim gestured to the shelf.

“I don’t think I can reach. Can you slip this up there for me?”

Jason’s grin softened and he pushed himself to his feet, seeming eager to help. “Some of these old ass antique pieces are pretty huge. I keep telling B there’s a difference between practicality and ostentatious but he doesn’t seem to understand,” he said, taking the bag and reaching up to deposit it within the desired shelf. Jason was maybe six inches taller than Tim and even on his tip toes he still had to struggle.

The moment Jason was facing fully with his back to him, Tim went for his belt. Jason wasn’t an easy guy to shake, so he figured it was go big or go home, and with the whole kidnapped thing being as it was, going home wasn’t quite an option at the moment. He undid the buckle, button, and zipper as quietly as possible, keeping the conversation going to hide any clinking.

“Well, it wouldn’t be as much of an issue if I would just hit my growth spurt like a normal person. It sucks being short,” he complained, silently debating whether or not to act like he was changing or just go for it.

"Don't worry, I got enough height for the both of us, prett-" Jason had turned around mid-sentence to the sight of Tim stripping off his shirt, the belt hanging open from his unzipped jeans. His expression was priceless and it took all Tim had to not drop his innocently blank mien and burst out laughing. Obviously thrown, Jason flushed and tried not to stare at the v of his hips or the red of his exposed boxer briefs for more than a couple of seconds. It was comical how bad he was at it.

Biting his lip and putting on a look of concern, Tim moved forward, resting his hand on Jason’s arm. “Are you okay, Mister Todd? You’re looking a bit flushed, you feel alright?” Jason full on flinched when he moved his hand to his cheek to check his temperature. “You feel hot, perhaps you’ve had too much excitement tonight, what, with all that kidnapping and all,” Tim said, concern painting every word while his eyes burned with barely concealed glee. He kept his hand cradling Jason’s cheek and brushed his thumb over the stupidly prominent cheekbone and walked them both backwards. He tilted Jason’s head to the side as if to use the angle and light to better diagnose the sudden ailment, slowly and steadily closing the distance between them and the door.

Jason’s breathing stuttered and he leaned into his palm, bringing one of his own hands up to gently rest on Tim’s partially clothed hip. “I don’t know, I think I could stand for a little more excitement tonight yet,” he admitted, his voice at least an octave lower and husky in ways that gave Tim goosebumps. He followed obediently as Tim moved them back, his eyes never once straying from Tim’s.

Tim smiled knowingly, with teeth, and let his hand slide down to cup Jason’s neck. “I’m not a doctor, but I think that’s probably not the best idea,” he bantered, his smile turning coy at the hard line of the door against his back. The distance between their bodies was quickly disappearing and Tim fought to keep his sanity for just a few more minutes, his composure crumbling under the combined assault of Jason’s hand burning against his bare skin and the mind-numbing scent of Jason’s cologne permeating his senses.

“And why’s that, pretty bird?” Jason asked, bringing his free hand up to rest right below his ribcage, his fingers tracing the bones with a pressure just past ticklish and, Tim thought, not even remotely enough.

He gasped out a breath and, in a move that was so smoothly executed Jason barely registered it, swapped their positions and twisted open the doorknob behind him, using gravity and Jason’s own body weight to deposit the man in the hallway outside. “Because it’s past my bedtime, Mister Todd,” Tim let out as he leaned against the doorframe, his previously restrained mirth now front and center.

He watched Jason gape for a moment as he steeled his courage. Pulling him down to his height by the collar of his shirt, Tim pressed a quick kiss against his cheek, and, with a whispered “Goodnight,” in his ear, retreated back into the guest room, the door closing firmly behind him before Jason could react let alone process what had just happened.

The moment the door clicked shut, Tim found himself sliding down the smooth surface, plopping on the carpet in a boneless heap of still twitching nerves and unresolved frustration. The tight grip on his sanity weakened and he could feel his life spiraling out of control.

He just gave one of the most notorious mobsters in the city a hard on and then threw him out of the room.

Unrestrained laughter bubbled out and he could feel the tears gather in the corners of his eyes. He snorted.

Breakfast sure was going to be awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahhahah i remember writing these parts at like 5am after pulling an all nighter, going to my friends house after i had slept maybe 3 hours, and then falling down in her kitchen telling her about it because i couldnt stop laughing. good times, good times. anyway, check me out on tumblr and let me know how youre liking this! i love hearing from you all. until next time~


	6. Chapter 6

Jason charged into the room with little warning and slammed his hands on the table, expression and voice manic and Bruce knew already that he was going to regret calling him in for a briefing this late at night.

“Please tell me the Drake kid is legal.”

He hated it when he was right.

Sighing in a way that only Jason could induce, he pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, praying for patience from a deity long deemed useless.

“We live our lives outside the boundaries of the law, Jason. I don’t see why it frankly matters,” he extolled as he dragged his hand through his hair, far too tired for the conversation. Jason, obviously too keyed up to sit, paced the length of the study and shot him an insulted look.

“Wha- of course it matters B! I’m not the kind of scumbag who takes advantage of underage kids, that’s fuckin’ messed up and, ‘frankly,’” he gesticulated, with the appropriately placed air quotes, “I’m a bit surprised that you aren’t even objecting to my interest in the kid.” He gave him a disappointed look that clearly expressed how ashamed he was of him, and Bruce felt the beginnings of a headache twitch to life.

“When you get to be my age—”

“Bullshit, don’t you fuckin’ pull the age card B, you’re not even forty yet—”

Bruce glared at Jason and started again. “When you get to be my age, you stop thinking about age as an indication of maturity.”

He gave Jason a pointed look before continuing.

“And I’ve sat through enough of your body autonomy lectures to know well enough that you wouldn’t pressure him into anything without his full and enthusiastic consent stated in triplicate, so I think that underage or not, I have little to object to besides the possibility that he’s an informant or a mole sent to bring down my organization from within. But if the age thing is a legitimate concern you’re having, you could always just ask the boy.”

Jason stood silently for a few moments before suddenly breaking into a wide grin and sliding around the desk to pat Bruce on the back heartily. “I’m so touched, B, you actually listen to my rants and you gave me decent life advice, albeit in a kinda insulting way. I wish Demon were here to see this, we’ll make a Hallmark Dad outta you yet,” he chuckled, leaning back against the desk and crossing his arms. “But in all seriousness, how much do we know about him? He doesn’t seem like he’s interested in fuckin’ us over, but he knows an awful lot about us and he’s got about four terabytes worth of data that I doubt he uses for his ITunes collection.” Jason stared intently at the fireplace in thought. “Not to mention he’s probably the most unreadable person I’ve ever come across, and I’ve dealt with Damian’s side of the family.”

Bruce took in the information and drummed his fingers against the wood of the desk. Despite Jason’s tendency to make him want to rip his hair out, when the switch was flipped he was nothing but business. And despite the blatant flirting from earlier, Bruce knew that Jason was anything but distracted.

Jason continued to rattle off his findings. “…and apparently his parents are into shit that involves copious amounts of traveling because the Drake place? Complete ghost town. I think Tim’s the only one who actively stays there ‘cause there was no sign of a maid or anythin’. On the bright side it means we don’t have to worry much about his parents reporting him missing, and goin’ by the four contacts on his cell, three of which are delivery places, concerned friends won’t be an issue either.” At that he dug out a sleek smartphone and tossed in on the desk.

Bruce took all of this in, comparing it to what he already knew. His own initial searches on the Drake boy were innocuous, just the average information found in public records, with some minor media coverage due to his parents’ higher social status and their overseas involvement in various archeological projects. He picked up the phone and quickly thumbed through the contacts, messages, photos. There was nothing to suggest duplicity, but there was also nothing to suggest why someone with his standing would be interested in Gotham’s thinly veiled underworld, and he told Jason as much.

He looked to Jason, who after burning off his previous excitement had mellowed with the late hour. “Did he make any reference as to what was on the drives?” It had been a long night for all of them, but as much as he wanted to tell him to head to bed, the potential risk factor the Drake boy’s involvement presented could not wait until the morning.

Jason uncrossed his arms and lifted himself onto the desk with an ease born from years of these progress reports and settled in on the only clear spot, the space Bruce had habitually come to consider reserved for Jason to perch. “Well, he had from what I counted at least three external hard drives along with his laptop, which I figured from the model could hold maybe seven hundred gigs by itself. I asked about the fuckin’ Geek Squad gear and he said it was for all his pictures, and then he mentioned that you had an entire thing of subfolders on just little ol’ me, so I took that as him havin’ most if not all of our supposedly secure files backed up on his own drives,” he reported, fighting back a yawn towards the end. He dragged a hand through his disheveled hair before continuing.

“And while I’m curious as shit about these folders you keep on me, I think it’s worth mentionin’ that when Demon and I found him, he was set up with a camera on a rooftop overlookin’ the docks where one of my deals was going down. You know I scope out my locales before I do my thing and I noticed him up there. I was able to call off the guys and have Demon help me snatch him before he caught on. It might be safe to say that he’s been photographin’ us for a while, since he seemed pretty comfortable doin’ what he was doin’. I think Demon’s got the camera somewhere, he mighta ditched it in the car during the drive to W.E. if you wanna check that out later.”

“Have it brought to me sometime tomorrow. We need to verify his accumulated data,” Bruce ordered. He thought back to the rat that had been found in the accounts, Tseng. “And place a call to Cassandra. Tell her we need her in Guanzhou, the details will be sent to her in the usual manner. Make sure she knows I’m sorry about uprooting her and that the job shouldn’t take her long.” Jason nodded and flipped open his phone, probably making a note to call her when it wasn’t dinner time in Japan. Cass hated being called when she was eating.

They sat in silence, Bruce digesting the information, Jason fighting off the urge to fall asleep sitting up. It was Damian’s entrance that broke the spell. He was sans suit and in his normal house attire, indicating that he had changed before reporting in. Jason perked up at his arrival, a lazy grin on his face.

“Hey there, Demon. How was your little adventure with Dick? Enlightening, I hope?”

Bruce watched as Damian froze, eyes wide before forcibly relaxing, answering with a curt, if stiff, “It was fine.” If anything Jason’s grin grew wider. Dick’s name sparked a memory, and Bruce interceded before Jason derailed the conversation with whatever crude inside joke he was referencing.

“The Drake boy recognized Dick in my office. They have a history,” he stated, nodding for Damian to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. “What were your impressions of him, Damian?”

For some reason Jason was practically vibrating beside his elbow from barely restrained laughter and he resisted the sudden, familiar urge to shove him to the floor. “Yeah, tell us your impressions, Dami,” he snickered.

Damian was steadfastly refusing to rise to the bait, or even look at Jason, and Bruce felt his pride swell. “He seems naïve, though he has had extensive hand to hand combat training. He is…earnest, empathetic,” he explained, keeping eye contact with Bruce so as to avoid looking at Jason’s grinning face. “I would not think a personality such as his would be capable of duplicity.”

“Goodness me, Demon, that’s almost a glowing recommendation coming from you. You sure we’re talkin’ bout the same guy?” Jason teased, and Bruce gave him an unimpressed look. He looked contrite for all of a moment before brightening with what Bruce could only assume was epiphany. “Hey, you said your hot secretary knew Tim? Demon says the dude’s trustworthy, why not have him vouch for Tim. Hell, why not bring them both into the fold? This place could use some more eye candy, and I know havin’ someone privy workin’ with you in the office would make shit easier on you.”

Bruce took a moment to consider it. It was a sound enough idea. Having Dick there to field the more confidential calls or tend to some of the minor things that Jason and Damian come to him with, it would give him more time to focus on the important, delicate operations that only he could do. And if the Drake boy was as valuable as Jason seemed to think, then it might be worth bringing in his P.A. to have him verified. He looked to Damian.

“Can he be trusted?”

The question weighed heavily in the air and Damian nodded without hesitation.

“Then bring him here tomorrow. Pending his opinion on Drake, we will consider bringing both in,” he ruled, standing slowly from his chair. His knees creaked and he felt heavy with exhaustion. “Get some sleep, both of you. I’ll have Alfred wake you when the car is ready for you, Damian. Goodnight.”

Jason slipped off the desk and gave him a jaunty salute before pulling Damian from his seat and out the door with a “Night, Boss,” shot over his shoulder. Bruce rubbed tiredly at his eyes and opened a drawer in his desk, pulling from it Dick’s application and background check as they closed the door behind them.

He had his own verifying to do before he slept.

oOo

Jason waited all of three seconds after exiting Bruce’s office before unleashing a hailstorm of questions on Damian.

“Details! I need details, Demon! Did he try anything? Did you try anything? What exactly did he say?” he shot off, nudging Damian with his shoulder as they walked through the hall. All traces of his previous drowsiness were seemingly lifted in light of potential gossip.

Damian grit his teeth and shoved away from the man, quickening his pace. Deterring Jason was similar to teaching a dog not to beg; avoid eye contact, deny any acknowledgement to the attention seeking behavior, give no positive reinforcement that may serve to perpetuate the unwanted actions.

“You know this pretty much proves that I wasn’t lying before about him kicking your ass being a come-on.”

And with that, Damian found himself coming to a standstill. He stood stock still and allowed Jason to catch up, his fingers clenching in the fabric of his shalwar. The smooth skim of silk against his battered wrists brought with it the phantom touch of careful, apologetic fingers. His jaw clenched and his shoulders stiffened and he glared at Jason’s self-satisfied grin with abject hate.

“He was merely being courteous in the face of having assaulted his employer’s son, this proves nothing and I would wish this subject dropped, Todd,” he practically spat, resisting the urge to bury his fist in Jason’s throat.

If anything, his acerbic tone only encouraged Jason’s mood.

“Yeah, ‘cause that totally justifies him inviting you up to his place, which if you haven’t realized by this point Demon, is American for ‘please come into my bedroom and fuck me against the wall.’ Jesus, you’ve been in this country long enough to know shit like this, I know you watch tv,” he lectured, his posture put upon and veritably dripping with patronization. “You don’t even get how lucky you are to have me here to explain this shit to you, I don’t even wanna think about how you would’ve made it through life not knowing that.”

“I am not incompetent, Todd,” Damian all but snarled before resuming his quick pace, the sanctity of his bedroom only a few halls away. “Has it occurred to you that Grayson is nothing more than an overzealous simpleton with little regard for personal space or acceptable social conventions?”

Jason kept pace easily and did not seem at all inclined to abandon the conversation.

“Has it occurred to you that your little phone call freak out pretty much cements that this denial is all just you trying to deal with the idea that B’s hot secretary wants to bang you like a screen door? And like I told you back when you were playin’ bondage slave, beatin’ someone in a fight and then extending the olive branch is a way of showin’ interest in the good ol’ USA,” he drawled, again nudging Damian’s shoulder with his own as he flashed him a bright smile. “We call it courtship through combat, ask B if you don’t believe me.”

Damian scoffed. As if he would ever ask his father about something as unsavory as courtship rituals, especially in regards to his secretary.

“I’m not sayin’ you have to marry the dude, but he laid down the offer, Demon. And with you vouching for him, you’ll be working real close with him.” The implications weighed heavily in the air.

Thankfully, the door to his room was within sight, bringing with it an end to the conversation and the dubious company Jason provided. It was a sound tactical retreat when he darted through the door way, practically slamming the door in Jason’s face in his haste to flee the topic. He barely registered the sardonic goodnight muffled through the heavy wood.

The sudden, and welcome quiet seemed to seep the tension from Damian’s body, the first waves of fatigue crashing down on him, crumbling his carefully maintained guard to pieces. It was not often he had a day both as physically and emotionally draining as this. Scenes and dialogue played incessantly in his mind, voices echoing in his ears with signals unfathomable, Jason’s assertions and ‘advice’ weighing the heaviest. The faint notes of dawn lit his sparse room as he fell into his bed, all too ready to leave the night’s tumultuous influence behind in the sweet embrace of sleep. One by one the barrage of thoughts receded as exhaustion overtook him.

As he drifted into blackness, he pretended not to notice the gentle warmth still caressing his wrists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooahh we're halfway there~ halfway through my pre-written shit at least, so i guess technically about a quarter of the way through the story as a whole. anyway, the semesters going to be ending soon so ill definitely get back into writing more and hopefully ill be able to keep these weekly updates a thing for a good while longer. anyway, let me know how you're liking this and all that jazz. until next time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back in bruce's pov for this, and hooray for more backstory.

Bruce could feel his eyes smarting in the harsh light of the screen, the text burning itself into his exhausted brain. The stately grandfather clock in the corner of the office stood aloof, its continual ticking a rhythmic chastisement at his persistent presence.

Richard John Grayson was not who he seemed, of that Bruce was certain.

Birth certificates were easy enough to dig up and there was nothing amiss with the information that he could see; social security number, parents, birthday— everything fit the application Dick had submitted during the hiring process. An in depth internet search however brought forth a plethora of information he could only assume was not meant to be checked.

The bold faced newspaper headline, impactful and aggressive despite the scanned newsprint and aged wear, stood out harshly against the white background.

**_HALY’S ACROBAT COUPLE DEAD AND SON ORPHANED, MOB SUSPECTED._ **

Bruce’s eyes widened. He vaguely remembered hearing about the incident years back, shortly after he had wrestled back control of the family. The mob responsible wasn’t affiliated with the Wayne’s so he hadn’t given the incident much thought.

There had been a lot of extortion back then. The cops were easily bought off to be deaf to any complaints filed by small businesses and the circus, already the focus of prejudice and distrust, stood little chance of avoiding the target on their back. It was a small time gang long since absorbed that went to Haly’s for a protection fee. Bruce sighed and scrolled through the story. It was one he had heard hundreds of time before.

Haly refused to pay. The gang retaliated. A child was left orphaned.

The similarities to his own past weren’t lost on Bruce.

He reached the end of the article and opened up a new window. A lot can happen to a kid in the interim while waiting for next of kin to step up. With a few keystrokes he was in the foster database.

Dick had bounced around to different foster homes around the city immediately after the murders. The police obviously feared for his safety. It wasn’t a habit for extortionists to leave loose ends, especially when they were trying to make a statement. The boy had moved every few days to a new home, all easily traceable if you knew where to look. Bruce followed the data, mapping out the many different addresses Dick had called—or tried to call—home, until the trail ended abruptly after three weeks.

Bruce frowned and double checked the foster log on Dick. No next-of-kin was reported to have been found, so he hadn’t been taken in by family. On a whim, he opened the police database and checked the case file. Dick had been taken into protective custody so there was a chance there was a file outlining where he had been placed.

After a few minutes of skimming, he alighted on a witness protection slip, something innocuous and obviously missed in the department’s transfer over to digital records asking for permission to allow a “John Blake” to ride a school bus to the pre-approved elementary school. Either the page was misfiled, or there had been a name change once they realized there were no next-of-kin stepping up.

Bruce quickly flicked through Dick’s application. There was no indication of any name change, but Dick entering witsec would explain the sudden cease in foster home hopping as well. Bruce typed the new name into the police database to check against it simply being just a filing error.

Instead of the search bringing him to another file database, a list of Police Academy alumni appeared on the screen. Bruce bit his lip and scrolled, clicking on the “Blake, John” link under the graduating class of 2013. A knot of cold tension curled tightly in the pit of his stomach. A profile popped up with a small biography and list of honors but no picture. He opened another page and quickly found the graduating class page for the 2013 year, his knuckles white as he clicked the link.

The picture stared back at him and Bruce pulled away from the keyboard, sagging heavily into the chair back. It only took a moment to pick out the bright smile he saw every morning behind the lobby desk amidst the rows of somber faced graduates, and another moment to fully digest exactly what it meant. He quickly switched back to the previous window and read the biography.

Officer John Blake, a.k.a. Dick Grayson the P.A., had graduated with honors from the Academy and currently served at the Gotham City Police Department. Bruce scrubbed at his face with his hands. He hadn’t even known they had an undercover division for anything besides narcotics, let alone the resources to get a plant in his company. He reached for his phone, halfway through calling Jason before he even finished reading the file. He had had no idea and he had come so close to letting him into the ranks.

Bruce listened to the dial tone and stared at the graduation photo. He was good, there was no denying it. He was hard working, affable, and unsettlingly earnest. The perfect P.A. and a promising young upstart in the force it seemed. The arrest record in his file focused on petty criminals and gang bangers prone to harassing civilians, drug pushers and extortionists. The kinds of people he found Jason often took down during his rounds. After a moment’s deliberation, Bruce ended the call.

Bruce had no idea the police had undercover resources in the city. He had no idea they were targeting him with a direct assault. That kind of informational blind spot could have proved the family’s destruction. He tapped his fingers against the chair arm and stared at the arrest record.

Having someone inside the police department would fill in the blind spots. He’d have an early warning system for raids, a way to funnel misinformation to whatever task force the police had on the Family, a way to stay five steps ahead.

This wasn’t the first time he had contemplated infiltrating the police. This was Gotham after all, there were plenty of dirty cops that would jump at the chance of switching sides for the right price. But that in itself presented a problem. He didn’t want someone who would sign over to whomever had the bigger wallet. Cooperation was easy to buy.

Bruce wanted loyalty. Conviction.

Dic— John. John had his entire life dictated by the actions of the Mafia. He had ample reason to hate them and want them taken down. Patrolling the streets as a beat cop left plenty of chances for him to see the affects gang violence had on civilians. If Bruce was going to make this work, he had to completely rewrite the way John perceived the Wayne Family. Show him the good they do for the city, the stabilizing effect they have on the chaotic street gangs and other big name mobs. Show him what a potential power vacuum would result in if they were to suddenly disappear.

His mind churned with potential ideas.

Dick was an empath. He wore his heart on his sleeve and while that had made him appear harmless before, now it made him exploitable. From Jason’s earlier comments it was obvious that Damian and he had some sort of connection. Damian had vouched for him, and no matter how innuendo-laden Jason’s reaction was, that didn’t detract from the veracity that his youngest was hard to impress.

If Dick was thrown into a foreign role, he would cling to the closest buoy he felt he could trust. He would already be vying to fix the tumultuous first impression he had made with Damian, it would take little effort to foster their interactions into something that would create attachment. Tim as well, there was a history there and as long as Tim was kept close to the family Dick was sure to stick around.

His contemplation was cut off by his cell phone ringing, Jason’s name flashing across the screen. He answered it while powering down his computer.

“Hey Boss, sorry, couldn’t tell if I was imaginin’ the ringer or not. Need something?” Jason mumbled, obviously still half asleep.

Bruce spun idly in his chair as he checked the time, the grandfather clock face no longer seeming quite so oppressive.

“No, everything’s fine now. Go back to sleep, Jason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter, i was gonna post another section with it but i didnt think the next went together very well with it. we're just about to pass over the hump and into actual plot shit! woot! exposition and world building is almost over, get excited peeps. also, i hope you all have a great thanksgiving if you celebrate! until next time~


	8. Chapter 8

Whatever Tim thought the morning would bring, it certainly didn’t involve him stepping into a scene straight from The Godfather. The few hours of sleep he had been able to manage in a strange house had done little to prepare him for whatever this meeting entailed. Alfred, who had been kind enough to wake and accompany him, only gave an encouraging nod before closing the door behind him, effectively leaving him to his fate.

“Don’t tell me. It’s the day of your daughter’s wedding, right?” Tim deadpanned, leveling the tableau of Waynes gathered around the large study, Bruce of course behind the desk and even more imposing now that he had a few hours of sleep under his belt.

Jason, looking chipper as ever perched on the desk’s corner, snorted. “Nah pretty bird. We’re just going to make you an offer you can’t refuse,” he intoned dramatically. The wolfish grin on his face held no sign of last night’s disappointment. Tim fought to keep the smile off his face.

Bruce shot Jason an exasperated look and gestured towards a chair. “If you’ll have a seat Mr. Drake. We’re just waiting for my youngest to arrive with Dick,” explained the Don. “I trust your night was pleasant?”

“Pleasant enough, given the short duration sir,” Tim replied, seating himself in the chair directly in front of Jason. “I trust you didn’t find anything too incriminating in the background check you undoubtedly ran?”

“Well, I certainly learned a whole lot,” Jason smirked knowingly, as if he had rifled through Tim’s sock drawer or something. Given his tenacity, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility. It made him smile.

“As long as you still respect me in the morning, I’m just glad you enjoyed it,” he shrugged, uncrossing his legs. Bruce rolled his eyes and hid a sigh in his cup of coffee, not even attempting to reign Jason in. Tim leaned forward, eyes on Jason. “Tell me, what was your favorite part?”

Damian’s sudden entrance interrupted Jason’s quip, saving them all another heavy dose of innuendo. Dick followed like a slightly bewildered puppy. He started when he caught sight of Tim. It was pretty obvious he didn’t know exactly what he’d been called for.

“There he is! The man of the hour. Welcome to our humble abode, hot secretary,” Jason welcomed graciously, arms thrown out dramatically. Bruce buried his face in a hand and roughly elbowed his second off the desk corner. Jason yelped, overbalanced, and fumbled before righting himself. He glared at Bruce and crossed him arms. “Fine, whatever, let’s get this started then, bossman. I got knees to break after all.”

Bruce took a deep, grounding breath and lowered his hand, his expression leaving no room for any more joviality. “Dick, I am sure that you’re aware of the nature of my business and history behind it.” He didn’t make it a question or wait for affirmation. “I had Damian bring you here today to vouch for young Mr. Drake here.”

Dick looked suitably bemused. “Vouch? For what?” he asked, looking at Damian and Jason in turn for some sort of clarification before meeting Bruce’s gaze. Damian scoffed from his position against the closed door.

“They wish for you to vouch for Drake’s intent. Is he or is he not trustworthy, is there something in his past that would prove him to be detrimental to the Family, things to that nature,” he explained a bit haughtily. “You place your guarantee that he is not a threat, allowing Father to induct him with full confidence.”

For some reason, Jason turned to Bruce, his expression overwhelmingly smug. “And Damian’s volunteering explanations now, isn’t that nice, B?”

Bruce waved him off without looking away from Dick. “Can you vouch for Tim Drake’s trustworthiness, Dick?”

Tim bit his lip and watched Dick flounder for a moment. The man was a cop, how was he supposed to give his blessing allowing a civilian entry into an organized crime family? Then again, the man was a cop. Dick had to know what would happen if he was considered a liability instead of an asset. As much as Jason seemed to favor him, Tim knew that the man was all business under the flirting. He would recognize the danger, and he’d follow Bruce’s orders when it came down to it. Tim held his breath and schooled his expression.

“Well uh, like I said last night, I used to keep Timmy out of trouble when he was younger. He’s a decent kid and I’ve never found any reason to distrust him,” Dick managed after a couple of seconds. “Tim’s always been stubborn and a little headstrong, but if he came to you wanting to help then I guarantee you that he’s nothing but sincere.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked to Damian for reassurance or some sign that he had ‘vouched’ correctly.

Damian met his eyes briefly and then looked to Bruce. “Is that all you require from him?” he asked brusquely, head cocked. Bruce stared at him for a moment before nodding. Dick visibly relaxed.

And then the attention was brought back to Tim.

“Given the information you have brought to our attention and the potential good your skills could work for the Family, I am allowing you to shadow Jason. You both will work to uncover the identity and location of the individual or group responsible for Tseng’s indiscretions. You will report directly to me and you will remain a guest here in this house for as long as it takes to do so.

“If you agree to these terms and dedicate yourself to their accomplishment, you will join the organization.” There was a finality in Bruce’s tone that left no room for debate or interjection.

Tim sat up straighter and raised an eyebrow. “And if I don’t agree?” he asked, voice cool and level. This was a power play, plain and simple. Bruce leaned back into his chair and quirked his lip. It would be generous to call it a smile.

“I believe you already know the answer to that question, Mr. Drake.”

It was Tim who broke the heavy silence.

“Well, if that’s the case then I guess I’m in. You can call me Tim, though,” he said, moving to shake the Don’s hand. “You know, since you’re my boss now.” The handshake was strong and something in Bruce’s eyes shifted. Tim was pretty sure he had done something right, maybe even impressed him. Jason pumped his fist and whooped as he moved around the desk to lean on the back of Tim’s chair, his trademark grin stretched wide and bright.

“Very well, Tim. Now, as to the other matter of business,” Bruce segued, gaze turning to focus again on Dick, who had made a valiant effort to appear as unobtrusive as possible during the exchange. “The offer to join the organization is also being extended to you as well, Dick.”

Again, Dick fumbled. Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The man was as readable as a large print text book, how he’d managed to get this job was a mystery.

“Me? Are you sure? What would I be doing?” he asked, his gaze torn between Bruce and Damian. Jason snickered near Tim’s ear and he nudged him with a shoulder, attention fastened on Dick’s performance.

Bruce leafed through a few of the papers on his desk, selected a few, and passed them to Dick. “You will still function as my assistant in Wayne Enterprises, but you will also be handling some of my….more sensitive business details. You will also be present within my closed door meetings as a note taker. A new workplace will be set up within the manor for the times when I require assistance with any dealings I may conduct here. All details of your duties are outlined within these work description forms.”

Dick was obviously stunned and he took a few minutes to peruse the documents. “Uh, it says here that my ‘person may be put at risk, up to and including death’? And don’t I need to be ‘vouched’ for too?” he asked, visibly overwhelmed.

Bruce brushed the queries aside as he straightened the remaining papers. “Merely a formality. Every measure will be taken to assure your constant safety.” He fixed his eyes on Dick, the pressure tangible throughout the room. “As to the vouching, Damian has already given his assurance that you are worthy of my trust.”

“He did?”

The response came so quickly that it couldn’t have been anything but surprise. Damian, from his corner of the room, averted his eyes and gave a short, abrupt nod. Again, Jason, nearly vibrating with restrained laughter, was met with Tim’s unapologetic shoulder in his stomach. Dick stared at Damian’s hostile figure and some of the tension eased from his shoulders.

The papers crinkled quietly in his hands. Dick spent maybe another minute reading over the forms before nodding, hand reaching for a pen to sign the dotted line. “Well, if you’re sure you want me, then I’ll do my best to not disappoint you, sir. Can I have a copy of these to review?” he asked, handing his set back to Bruce.

“Naturally. Damian,” Bruce called, tearing Damian’s attention away from the spot of carpet he had been glaring at. “Please see that Dick gets a copy before he leaves today. Alfred will tell you where to look.”

Damian rolled his eyes but nodded, turning to leave. A scoffed “Come, Grayson,” had Dick chasing his heels out the doorway, leaving just Tim and Jason to bear the brunt of Bruce’s scrutiny.

“Now that was somethin’, never seen Dami quite so helpful,” Jason hedged, his grin hinting at something. Tim huffed and moved to stand. Two large hands clamped down on both his shoulders, pushing him back down. “Hey there, not so fast. We gotta talk business before pleasure, pretty bird.”

The hands rested there, massaging him lightly and Tim tried to ignore how distracting it was. “Okay, yeah, business. What’s the plan then, how is this shadowing thing going to work?” he asked, keeping his focus on Bruce and not on the warm chest pressing against his back.

Bruce hummed and steepled his fingers. “That depends entirely on you, Tim. Jason has his own methods for acquiring information, though his tend to require some measure of prior direction and targeting. My suggestion would be to coordinate your specific talents and figure out how to best use them to uncover the information we need. How the shadowing will work though is up to Jason.”

“I was thinkin’ we have pretty bird here find me paper trails, definite connections to the guy we’re hunting and then we build a web. Find someone to lean on, get him to talk, work our way up from there with more and more names, hard drives, whatever we need to keep building,” Jason offered, fingers digging in just behind his shoulder blades, seeping any tension out of Tim’s body. “Combine the street work with the data tracking, his shit could even help narrow my lines of questioning. It’ll make it easier to get ‘em to talk before they can’t.”

Tim forced his eyes to open fully. “If you get me a decent tablet I can do my work in the field while he works, it shouldn’t be too difficult to follow the breadcrumbs,” he added, his voice just this side of airy.

Bruce nodded and jotted down a note, probably an order for someone to get a tablet, before pushing his chair back to stand. “I expect biweekly update meetings on your progress. Jason, make sure that Tim is properly settled and acclimated to the manor. We want him to feel welcome, after all,” he instructed.

He held open the study door, and Tim pulled himself together enough to follow Jason out into the hallway. Jason snagged his wrist and led him away from Bruce, tugging him forward and under his arm.

“You got it, B,” Jason tossed over his shoulder brightly. “Welcome to the Family, pretty bird. I think you’re gonna like it here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gotta love The Godfather. i cant tell you guys how many mobster movies i watched just to make sure i got as much background on this shit as possible. we're getting to the really fun stuff soon, like within the next couple chapters. are you excited? because i am!! check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how youre digging this. until next time~


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may have lied to some of you, i didnt look at my notes so i forgot the order of things. next chapters are the real start of the fun stuff, so please enjoy!!

The forms hit the battered desk with a gratifying smack and Dick allowed himself to feel some measure of pride for his work so far. The Commissioner skimmed through the papers, his standard, no-nonsense business face breaking into a wide grin by the end. Dick knew that he had done something right, that there was progress being made and it was due to him.

“This is significant progress, Blake,” Gordon praised, paper clipping the forms and slipping them into a file folder. “And you’re sure Wayne’s buying it all? This was all pretty sudden, son.”

Dick shifted his feet and smiled. “I got in with his kid, Damian. I wrote out the details in my update report, sir. I’m positive that he hasn’t caught on to anything, and I think if I keep working my current angle I can get first hand evidence to the closed door meetings, maybe even gather some names for the D.A.” Not even Bullock’s pessimism could dampen Dick’s mood.

“You ain’t fuckin’ the kid, right?”

Okay, maybe it could. Dick frowned, glaring at the heavy set man lounging in the chair behind him. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response, Officer Bullock,” he ground out, forced civility keeping him from saying something vulgar.

The Commissioner sighed and waved Bullock out of his office. “Sorry about that Blake. You know how Harvey gets,” he apologized, sounding drained. “Whatever it is you’re doing to make the kid trust you, keep it up. It’s working and it’s better for you to have as many allies in there as you can get. Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

Dick bit his lip. He hadn’t made any reference to Tim in his reports. The kid was just a civilian, but he was already so far in that he worried he’d be almost impossible to remove without something coming out. Not to mention Tim knew he was a cop and was for the moment keeping it to himself. Dick didn’t know what it would take for that to change, but Tim seemed pretty comfortable where he was, even if that was nestled in the middle of one of the most notorious mob’s center of operations. If he tried to extract him, Tim had the means to unmask him. Something that could get the both of them killed. His stomach roiled in indecision, guilt and duty warring it out.

“No sir, nothing else to report.”

He left the Commissioner’s office without any more updates and it was all he could do to make his way through the maze of cubicles to where Wally had been set up. He hoped Wally’s usual brand of abrasive wit could lessen the weight in his chest, or if nothing else get his mind off the current clusterfuck that was his life.

Wally greeted him with a catapult and about thirty balled up processing forms launched at his face.

“Score! Take that, you traitor!” Wally exclaimed, startling a good number of his cubicle mates with his full bodied whooping. Dick laughed, brushing paper from his outfit as he plopped into the chair next to his partner’s desk.

“Good to see you’re using your desk duty time wisely. Looks very productive,” he joked, prodding at the makeshift catapult Wally had somehow managed to rig together with innocuous office supplies.

“Well excuse you, not all of us get to go off and have teatime with mobsters. We little folk here have to make do with the small pleasures office life affords us.” He smacked Dick’s fiddling hand away from his creation, no doubt worrying about its structural integrity. “What brings you to grace the lowly masses with your presence? Aren’t you supposed to be out schmoozing with the Wayne guy?”

Dick sighed, a bit relieved that Wally wasn’t still angry. “It’s my day off from the company, so I used it to come and report in. Mr. Wayne still might call me in though, so I wanted to make sure I got the chance to see how you were doing before I had to leave,” he explained, taking in the cluttered desk and his partner. Wally looked a bit stir crazy, his leg visibly shaking the crappy desk with its jittering. “How you holding up? They find you a new partner yet?”

His friend scoffed, kicking his legs up to rest on the desk. “Nah, Nelson and Montoya just brought in a huge meth bust and they’ve been pushin’ all us desk jockeys to help manage the paper work. They plan on squeezing as much work outta me as possible before they’re forced to throw me out on the streets or risk me blowing something up,” he admitted, moving to snag a piece of important looking paper work and begin folding it into a paper airplane. “My theory is that if I can raise enough hell back here, it’ll speed up the process.” His grin was maniacal, and just a touch crazed.

He huffed out a laugh and slumped in the hard chair. He had really, really missed Wally and his particular brand of insanity. “I bet that’ll work like a charm. How’s the whole ‘Seduce the Receptionist’ plan going? Made any headway?”

Wally flushed up to his hairline and dove over the desk to shove a hand over Dick’s mouth. “Shut up! What if she hears you?! I don’t want to get punched before lunch, Blake, that is not my idea of a good day!” he hissed, tossing his aborted airplane onto his desk and grabbing his coat. “Come on, let’s get some food and catch up before you get whisked away by Don Corleone or get me a black eye.”

They ended up in the same diner as last time, Wally ordering a truly impressive amount of food and Dick picking at his burger. Despite the pleasant company, he found his appetite a bit lacking.

“And then she asked me what I was doin’ bringing her coffee like that, and I said ‘I just thought you could use it’ and then _she_ said—” Wally’s lively story seemed to fade into the background and Dick tried to force himself to pay attention. The pressure of starting the new position was starting to get to him, and listening to the mundane, not at all life threatening goings-on of his friend was putting his current situation into stark perspective.

“Anyway, that’s all that’s happenin’ with Artemis, it’s gonna take a lot of work but I think I can wear her down. She did say she thought my pencil crossbow was cool, so there’s hope,” Wally assured him, oblivious to his inattention. Dick forced himself back to the present, smiling and nodding. “So what’s new with you? You making some progress with this whole thing?” he asked, eyebrow rising emphatically on the word ‘thing’.

“Yeah, I got promoted and now I’m a lot closer to all the action. It’s a good thing my boss’s son seems to like me, else I don’t think I ever would’ve made a lick of progress,” he explained, keeping the information vague. This was Gotham after all. Talking about open cases in public was a good way to potentially get someone killed.

Wally swallowed his mouthful of food and took a long drink of his soda. “This kid hot?” he asked, eyebrows wagging.

Dick sputtered, “Oh my god Wally! He’s not even legal!”

His friend burst into laughter and Dick slowly found himself relaxing, even chuckling a bit too. “I’m just messing with you, Dickie. It’s kinda funny though how that’s the first thing you bring up though, not the fact that oh, this kid’s dad happens to be the Boss with a capital B,” he joked, eyes brimming with mirth.

“I think the fact that he’s a, and let me emphasize this here, a _kid_ is pretty important too,” Dick responded, still a little flustered at the thought of Damian like that. The kid was an asset, his way in, maybe even his guide in the unfamiliar world of mobsters and crime. It was impossible to think of him any other way, not to mention incredibly unethical and immoral.

“Whatever you say, Dickiebird, I’m not judging. Kid’s probably seen and done enough stuff that he probably isn’t much of a kid anymore anyway,” Wally acquiesced, taking another gulp of his drink. “Do you know when you’ll be able to wrap this up though? I do kinda miss seeing your stupid face every now and then. And I’d kinda like to be back out doing what I signed up for.”

Dick sighed and stabbed at his French fries forlornly before sliding the entire plate over to Wally’s side, letting him attack it greedily. “Well, if things go as well as they’ve been going, I think it won’t be too much longer,” he guessed, trying to be optimistic.

He was really starting to miss his old job too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh sorry about last week's delay, i made some posts about it on my tumblr but i know not all of you guys are regulars there. i had to finish up a big ass paper and i wanted to make sure i didnt get distracted, so i posted after i turned it in. anywho, we're on to the really fun stuff. next couple chapters are some of my favs and the plot is thickening!!! its gonna be wild, youll love it i promise. until next time guys~


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is where we first start seeing mob violence shit. its pretty vague but if you dont like the idea of torture, reader discretion is advised.

As concerning as it was to admit, Tim found that he was quickly becoming acclimated to the idea of torture as a legitimate means of information gathering. It really wasn’t at all his style of going about things, but he couldn’t deny that when paired together he and Jason got results.

The screams of the current subject on the floor were somewhat blocked out by his headphones, his recently imported music collection doing an admirable job at keeping the din down to an easily ignorable level while he worked. The tablet Bruce had bought him was top of the line, with zero indication of the Vista-based bullshit he used on his company desktops. Or use to use. Tim smiled, remembering Jason laughing about Bruce making a company-wide software upgrade the day after they first met. He skimmed through the cell phone he had hooked into the tablet, searching for patterns in the call history, names, anything that Jason could use to better direct his questioning.

Ah, there it was. Another thread in their growing web.

“Hey, Red Hood, ask him about his buddy Felix,” he called out, removing his headphones. The codenames were a bit much for Tim, but there was a reason why Jason was as feared as he was and it wasn’t due to him keeping on a first name basis with his work. “Says here he’s been chatting with a Mr. Felix Undine about all sorts of juicy, Wayne Family business.”

Jason took a moment to wipe his hands off on one of the towels he kept in his tool bag for just that purpose. “Well now, I find that a bit hard to believe, pretty bird. We’ve been havin’ a good long conversation and he’s been tellin’ me that he doesn’t know anything about the Wayne’s,” he called out over his shoulder. “That makes me wonder which one of you is lyin’ to me. And buddy, let me tell you somethin’.” He got down to eye level with the bloody, wheezing man and grinned. “Pretty bird isn’t in the habit of lyin’ to me.”

The man choked on the punch Jason delivered, right in the fractured ribs. Broken ribs now, if the sound of the guy’s breathing was any indication. Tim rolled his eyes and sighed. Jason was such a fan of being dramatic.

“Oh I don’t know about that, Red. Just last night I told you I thought you had decent taste in movies when we both know that’s not true,” he quipped, scrolling through the man’s emails. There were concerning amounts of notices from porn subscriptions and venereal disease medication spam. He didn’t even wince when Jason crushed the man’s hand under his steel toed boot. Looks like the porn watching was going to be a little less satisfying now.

“Aw babe, you know I got great taste,” Jason replied, hand over his heart as if Tim’s words had cut him deep. The man’s sobbing and wheezing was getting harder to drown out with banter and Tim glared at the prone figure, as if it would make him shut up.

“You actually like the X-Men movies, Red. There is no coming back from that.” Tim thumbed through more and more email spam before alighting on a poorly disguised message chain between the man and Mr. Undine. A quick glance told him it contained everything they could possibly need, making the guy completely useless. “Speaking of crippling failures, I just found everything we needed. This guy really should look into deleting his emails, or at least investing in a better password.”

He moved over onto the tarp where Jason was working and showed him the message chain. Jason skimmed through it, Tim scrolling for him so he wouldn’t bloody up his touch screen like last time, and grinned down at the man. “Well, it looks like our little conversation is over now. We got what we need,” he said, crouching down to get on the man’s level. The man sucked in a shuddering breath and looked relieved. Tim rolled his eyes and walked back to his blood-free work station. Always with the melodrama.

“The thing is though, you’ve been sittin’ here lyin’ to me this entire time,” Jason tsked, chin cupped in a hand. “It’s not a very nice thing to do, especially to the guy with the bag of power tools loomin’ over your beat ass. There are better ways to ask to die, but I guess there’s no accounting for preference.” He smiled at the man as he tried to drag his broken body across the stained tarp and away from Jason. Jason stayed put, as if he was going to give the guy a head start, like he had a chance of making it out alive. Tim scoffed to himself. The guy was a serial sex offender and they caught him shooting up in the bushes of a public playground. He’d be lucky if Jason didn’t make this last another couple hours.

Jason looked back at Tim as he started to pack up his electronics. Hopefully he’d take that as incentive to finish quickly. He grabbed a baseball bat from his duffle bag and got to work, waiting until he saw that Tim had his headphones on before really letting go. Tim tapped away at his tablet, saving the important data content to a few of his flash drives before emailing Bruce that they had found another link in the chain. It would take a few hours to analyze everything but Tim was confident he could find another chunk of relevant names, motives, and numbers from the things they had uncovered.

His album was just ending when Jason tapped him on the shoulder, his hands and face clean and the body neatly wrapped up in the tarp and ready for dumping. Jason was rosy cheeked from exertion and he gave Tim a breathy chuckle at the expression of impatience on his face.

“Come on, let’s go get something to eat. I already called collection to come deal with the trash,” he offered, his duffle already resting next to the bundled corpse. “What’re you feelin’? And don’t say that Mexican place again ‘cause I was not impressed by their barbacoa.”

Tim shouldered his equipment bag and followed Jason out of the warehouse, blinking at the bright noonday sun. “That’s because you’re weirdly prissy about authentic fire pit roasting, which is, FYI, not something normal people put much thought into.” They had parked the bike near the waterfront and Tim sighed as they came up to it. It was gorgeous, a beautiful beast of a motorcycle with enough power to send them to the moon and back. It also forced Tim to pretty much plaster himself to Jason’s back else risk being thrown off by the man’s insane driving.

Jason took his bag and carefully nestled it into a saddlebag before straddling the bike with more flourish than was strictly necessary. “Hey, I gotta have standards. I can’t help that you’re just dandy with eatin’ whatever lies they serve you but I expect my food to be legitimate when I’m payin’ for it.” He scooted forward and waited for Tim to settle himself in behind him, handing the helmet to him over his shoulder. “Come on now, I need suggestions pretty bird. Where we goin’?”

He shoved the helmet on his head and hummed. “Know any good Italian places that meet your lofty standards, Princess?” he asked, wrapping his arms around Jason’s waist and trying to ignore how he could practically feel his abs through the thick leather jacket.

He could definitely feel Jason’s full bodied laugh and his affirmative before it and everything else was devoured in the bike’s lionesque purr. They darted off, burning through the waterfront and out onto the open streets in record time. Tim squeezed his eyes shut as Jason weaved between cars and took turns at stupidly high speeds, breaking all sorts of traffic and mathematical laws as he tore through downtown. They came to a stop outside of a mom-and-pop looking restaurant somewhere on the edge of the slums and Tim pulled off the helmet, handing it to Jason before he shakily got off the bike. He waited until Jason had finished locking up the vehicle before following him inside.

The interior was cozy, with rustic brick work and Frank Sinatra’s voice lilting in the air, making it a right side classier than Tim had any right to expect with it located this close to Crime Alley. A heavyset man greeted them inside the door with the typical Italian exuberance, positively delighted at seeing Signore Todd again, and with a date no less! They were seated quickly in a private looking nook, a menu handed to Tim but not Jason.

“So, I take it you come here often,” Tim remarked, glancing at the glossy menu in front of him. There weren’t many options, but the choices were all made with homemade sauce, pasta, and house-made mozzarella. The rich garlicy smell permeating the place made the entire restaurant feel like a little slice of Italy.

Jason shrugged off his jacket and draped it on the back of his chair. “Well, the owners are nice people and I know them from way back. I actually grew up around here, so I’m a pretty familiar face,” he replied, waving down a waitress by name to order some wine. “I swear, Georgie practically kept me from starving to death when I couldn’t make any money jackin’ tires.”

“That was nice of him. He put you to work washing dishes?” He flipped through menu, eyeing the carbonara. He knew a bit about Jason’s life pre-Bruce, mainly the things he could find in public records. It was interesting hearing about the more personal details.

Jason laughed and perked up as the bottle of rosé reached their table. “Yeah, sometimes, when it got busy. A lot of the time though he just sent me home with a big basket of all the leftover breadsticks they had at closing. He thought he was bein’ sneaky,” he recalled, pouring the wine for them both. “But I knew he always baked a batch just before closing time, just so I’d be full up for a few days.”

Tim felt his heart melt a little and quickly drowned it with a big gulp of wine. The look on Jason’s face was so fond, completely at odds with the brutality he had witnessed not even thirty minutes before. Thankfully, he was saved from staring at it by the timely arrival of a man who had to be Georgie himself, basket of breadsticks in hand and beaming smile on his face. He was a kind-faced man, with thinning red hair and laugh lines that made him look like a man you could trust. He clapped Jason on the shoulder and Jason returned the smile.

“Hey, old man, nice to see you’re still up and kickin’”

Georgie laughed heartily and ruffled Jason’s hair fondly. His forearms were covered in intricate tattoos and Jason swatted at him, hastily trying to fix his already messy hair. “Still a smart ass, only bigger. How’s my favorite troublemaker? I hardly recognized you without a breadstick in your mouth!” he joked.

“Nothin’ to complain about, Georgie, besides the slow ass service here,” Jason quipped, snagging a breadstick from the basket. He gestured at Tim and proceeded to do the introductions. “This is Tim, Georgie. He’s new.”

Tim smiled and Georgie shook his hand warmly, a knowing smile on his face.

“Marcelo mentioned you had brought a date. Let’s hope you don’t scare this one off with your horrible manners, yeah?” he said, giving Jason a look. “I’m Georgie. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tim. What can I get you?”

He quickly glanced down at the menu in front of him. “I’ll have the carbonara, please,” he ordered pleasantly. Georgie nodded and took the menu, tucking it under his arm.

“I’m gonna guess you want your usual?” he asked, looking at Jason.

Jason smirked. “If you think you’re up to it, old man.”

Georgie grinned and rapped him on the back of the head with the menu. “Oh just you wait you little brat, it’ll knock your socks off!” He declared, walking back towards the kitchen.

Tim raised an eyebrow, sipping his wine. Jason chuckled, tearing into a breadstick with all the grace of a four year old. “It’s sort of a thing with us. He keeps trying to make the perfect cacciatore, one that passes the Jason Todd scale of approval. Old man’s determined, gotta give him that.”

“Sounds like you’re a hard man to please,” Tim observed, swirling the liquid in his glass. It was really good wine. Not too sweet, not too tart; perfect for a light lunch. Jason had good taste when it came to food, there was no denying that.

Jason huffed and took his own drink. “Nah, pretty bird. I’m easy enough to please. Just gotta put the effort into it,” he explained, pushing the basket towards Tim. Apparently the breadsticks were something worth trying.

He snagged one and ripped it into easy to manage pieces. Dammit, he thought. They were excellent. Jason Todd, foodie extraordinaire.

“Sounds absolutely exhausting.” Tim observed with a small, flirtatious edge. “Can’t imagine many people feel up to that challenge.”

Back was the wolfish grin, Jason resting his crossed arms on the table top and leaning forward. “Well, I try to make the payoff worth the effort, pretty bird.” The quirk of his smile was disorienting, to say the least.

Thankfully, it was then that Georgie arrived, two piping hot plates balanced on his serving platter and a knowing smile teasing them both. “One carbonara for the poor man suffering your company,” he said, placing the plate down with a flourish before continuing. “And one plate of the best cacciatore you’ll ever have the pleasure of gracing your persnickety palette.” He sat it down in front of Jason and stood, arms crossed expectantly as Jason unhurriedly situated his cutlery. Tim snickered at the serious expressions on both of their faces and took some bites of his own perfectly al dente pasta.

Everything was still as Jason took a bite, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. Georgie was tense and growing more so every second Jason dragged it out, swallowing and staring at the food on his plate as he contemplated it.

“Come on, Jason, you’re killing me here!” Georgie broke first, hands reaching out imploringly. Jason hummed and faked indecision. Tim rolled his eyes and took pity on Georgie, kicking Jason under the table.

“Ow, fuck, fine,” he gave in, reaching down to rub at his shin. “It’s better than last time but you’re still goin’ too heavy on the basil. The wine though, I think that made the difference with it, it’s a lot fuller tastin’ now,” he rattled off as he gestured at the plate with his fork.

Georgie sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Damn, every time. Well at least it’s getting better,” he relented, patting Jason on the shoulder. “Sure do miss having that food sense you got hangin’ around here. You should stop by more and help me whip these newbies into shape.”

They carried on for a little longer, reminiscing and joking with each other, bringing Tim into the conversation with stories of Jason as a young street rat punk washing dishes to earn his keep and how he used to come in early and help make the pasta and sauce bases.

“…and then I caught this brat dumping the good brandy into the pot! I nearly whipped him with the serving spoon!”

Tim leaned on his hand and smirked at Jason’s red face. “I’m surprised you didn’t just turn him into bread. Sounds like it wouldn’t have been too hard with all the breadsticks he stole from the baskets.”

Georgie laughed and clapped Tim on the shoulder. “Oh I like this one, brat. He’s got good ideas!”

“Ha ha yeah, I remember that,” Jason chuckled, rolling his eyes and sipping his wine. “He forgot to tell you what happened next. The old man chased me through the kitchen ‘til he decided to taste it and found out that it was loads better than that wine-based monstrosity he was tryin’ to pass off as food before. Pretty sure you tried to patent that shit, old man.”

“I considered giving him the head line chef job then and there, but the little brat was a hazard to the bread supply. I ended up putting him on sous chef any night he felt like coming in.”

It was enlightening to say the least, Tim hearing about Jason’s life before Bruce and how he had managed to survive on his own for a good portion of his formative years. A few other patrons and even some of the older dining staff stopped by their table to give Jason their best, to cajole him for never coming around enough and visiting. Many knew Jason from around the neighborhood, old neighbors and friends that at one time or another found their hands full trying to manage the rambunctious and bratty kid Jason had been.

They didn’t really discuss anything involving Jason’s current state of affairs, nothing beyond a cursory inquiry about how he was doing and if Bruce was holding up okay. Eventually though, their plates emptied and stomachs full to the bursting with good food and wine, Jason noticed the time and made their goodbyes.

Georgie hugged them both at the door, telling them not to be strangers and for Tim to keep Jason in line, if that was even possible before ushering them out and on their way, completely bypassing any attempts Jason made to pay him for the meal. They walked back to the bike sedately, and Tim was struck by how much Jason was cared for by the residents in the slums. These were the people usually most hurt by gang activity operating in their neighborhoods. Drug dealers, junkies, gang violence; it all went down in the slums, lowering property values and takings lives, but these people still welcomed Jason in with open arms. There was no way they didn’t know what he did now, not with the Wayne name plastered on him from all angles.

“So uh, they all really seem to like you,” he mentioned, taking the helmet from Jason when he held it out to him. “I didn’t think all that many people took kindly to the mob around here.”

Jason shrugged and settled himself on the bike, leaning on the handlebars like a big, lazy cat. “They usually don’t, but they took care of me when I was a little hellbeast. I make sure to take care of them now that I can.” He straddled the bike and gestured for Tim to get on before settling back down. “B’s got this thing where he doesn’t like gangs fuckin’ with innocents, so we work a lot to keep the peace here. Makes ‘em tolerate us and gives me a chance to give back.” He gestured back at the restaurant. “Any of them ever have a problem, they know how to get a hold of me, and then I do my damnedest to fix it. Least I can do.”

Tim bit his lip under the helmet and wrapped his arms tight around Jason’s middle. That was incredibly kind. And noble. And a thousand other flattering adjectives. He had always known that the Wayne’s weren’t nearly the worst crime element in the city, but the fact that they went so far to keep the community amicable was something else.

They tore through the Gotham traffic and made a beeline back to the office, Tim too preoccupied with his thoughts to worry much about crashing. He really needed to stop being so struck each time Jason showed himself to be a decent person. It was really beginning to become a problem.

It wasn’t long before they were pulling in to the private parking lot beneath Wayne Enterprises and heading up to the inner offices. The trip was infinitely more comfortable when being made under his own power and not from Jason’s shoulder, something Jason still enjoyed joking about whenever they had to report to Bruce at work. The elevator took them upwards and deposited them into an empty foyer. Dick’s usual station was empty. Probably at lunch, Tim figured. It was too bad, they usually chatted some whenever they ran into each other before meetings.

Jason led the way to the office and knocked once before letting himself in. Bruce was reclined behind his desk, comparing spreadsheets or rosters or something. He looked up as they entered and gestured for them to sit.

“I take it your recent exploits bore fruit?” he asked, looking at both Tim and Jason in equal measure. If he noticed the blood flecking Jason’s jacket sleeves, he didn’t mention it.

Jason ignored the proffered chair, as usual, and instead sat on his corner of Bruce’s desk. Tim rolled his eyes. He’d stopped being surprised by it after their first few meetings and just chalked it up to habit. He sat himself in the chair nearest to the desk and pulled out his tablet.

“Well, we’ve got a name. A Felix Undine was in contact with our uh, our morning appointment. We got a whole slew of emails between the two of them and from what I can tell,” Tim rattled off, flipping through the email chains for a particular message, “he seems to be Tseng’s liaison with the various mobs in town. See?” He handed over his tablet after highlighting the message in question.

It wasn’t like the email went out and mentioned names, but it was obvious from the timestamp and the forwarded (and redacted) addresses included in the message that Tseng was calling the shots. Tim watched Bruce’s eyes flit over the lines and the set of his jaw tighten.

“What did you learn from the man this morning, Jason?”

He shifted on the desk and made himself more comfortable. It seemed the recent workload influx had reduced Jason’s usual perch to a fraction of its size. “Not a whole lot, pretty bird got the brunt of it when he went through the tech shit. I got a lot of lies, learned a few new swears, and that the dude was terrified of any mention of the shit going down behind the scenes.” Jason drew a hand through his hair and sighed. “From what I picked up though, whatever this shit is, it’s big. You might want to consider bringing some of the others in, B.”

Bruce frowned. “No. We have it contained for the time being. As long as it remains a Gotham conflict, we will keep it under control ourselves. Involving others is to be a last resort.”

Tim didn’t know who the “others” were, but by the solemn look on Bruce’s face, he assumed it wasn’t a choice made lightly. He cleared his throat and was greeted with Bruce’s full attention. “I’ve been doing some digging through the emails and some of the other sources I’ve gotten access to and it looks like the majority of them are in regards to the money Tseng’s been siphoning from your company. It’d take more digging to be sure, but my guess is that this Undine guy is running a play on the other mobs using your money to fund it. Buying large quantities of weapons and drugs and promising them to multiple groups.”

Jason looked at Bruce and crossed his arms. “It’s either going to cause a bidding war or a turf dispute, B, and you know as well as I do that Penguin and Two-Face don’t do friendly competition. Shit’s gonna break out and you know it’s going to be bad. If they’re gunning for an inter-city gang war we need to at least consider askin’ for help before it hits the fan.”

Drumming his fingers on the desk, Bruce stared down at the tablet in his hand. Tim looked at Jason and Jason rolled his eyes, annoyed. He kicked off from the desk and stood, gesturing for Tim to get up.

“If that’s all you got for us then, B, we’ll be heading out,” Jason ground out, heading towards the door. That got Bruce’s attention.

“Alfred has something waiting at the manor for you Tim. See to it when you are able.” He handed back the tablet and that was that.

Tim nodded and hurried after Jason’s frustrated exit, feeling like he had missed something important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woot woot gotta love lunch with the bae. i loved writing this chapter cuz i got to show off my fav type of jason (foodie). hit me up on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how you liked this. until next time~


	11. Chapter 11

Despite Jason’s constant remarks and assurances, Tim didn’t feel very at home in the manor. Sure, he was use to opulent surroundings. His parents were successful business people, to call them well off would be humble, and his own home was quite literally just down the road. But similar tax brackets didn’t make the guest room homey, no matter how much effort Alfred put into designing the furnishings.

Tim sighed and shifted again in hopes of finally getting comfortable on the bed, his laptop perched on his lap doing its damnedest to burn a hole in his jeans. He missed his desk, his wonderful, personalized ergonomic swivel chair, and his own pillow. It was difficult to do his hacking and database analysis on the bed and while he was confident Alfred of Bruce would be more than happy to set him up with a desk somewhere quiet and removed, there was just something off about working his magic in unfamiliar scenery without some touch of home.

A wide array of stolen and strong-armed hard drives, cell phones, and thumb drives weighed down the sheets beneath him and Tim rubbed his eyes tiredly. The conditions were making it hard to keep up a decent pace. According to Bruce, Damian would be back at any moment with another pilfered stash of hard drives to analyze. He needed to figure out a better way to work or he’d never keep up with the acquisitions. He was only half finished with the Tseng drives Bruce had somehow managed to obtain, from China no less. Jason had made some offhanded comment about a Cass having gotten them, that she was their Asian liaison and she was closest. It didn’t make much sense to him but he figured it probably involved assassins and illegal badassery.

There was a knock on the door, something quick and obligatory and not at all like the measured taps Alfred tended to favor. Jason then. Tim rubbed at his eyes and called out for him to come on in. At this point he didn’t trust himself to stand up without a good few minutes of stretching.

Jason entered immediately and made his way over to the bed, nudging aside some of the hardware to lay down next to Tim’s hunched figure. “How you doin’ pretty bird? I feel like I haven’t seen you in days. I got shit I wanna discuss and I need someone intelligent to listen while I bitch.”

Tim cracked his neck loudly and snorted at Jason’s horrified flinch. “That’s probably because I haven’t left the guest room for a good ten hours. But if you wanna hear bitching,” he replied, staring down at Jason’s comfortable sprawl enviously, “my neck is killing me and I think my back was dipped in carbonite.”

Jason huffed out a laugh. “Well okay there Han Solo. I suppose that makes it my duty to thaw you out. Want me to help? I got magic fingers, guaranteed better than that thawing thing” Jason offered, sitting up languidly, large hand cupping the back of his neck. His fingers pressed into the strained muscles and Tim couldn’t find it in himself to refuse.

“If you’re thawing me then I guess that makes you Leia. And I could totally be Han, I’m rebellious and rakish with a heart of gold. But since you’re offering,” he managed to breathe out, leaning back into Jason’s hands. The other hand had joined the party and both were currently going to town on his shoulders.

Jason hummed and kneaded into the knots, glancing around at the bedspread covered in electronics. “You know, this isn’t really the guest room anymore. You can consider it your room now,” Jason mentioned after a few minutes of bliss. “That includes decorating it or whatever. B and Alfie don’t mind. You can even go crazy with the Star Wars memorabilia. ”

Tim sighed and shifted so Jason was working on his lower back. “I don’t have a problem with the room, I just miss my old set up. It’s just….weird working in a new place without any dose of familiarity. That’s all. I don’t think bothering Bruce or Alfred with finding me a desk or a light saber would help any.”

Jason made a noncommittal noise and dug his fingers under Tim’s shoulder blades and that pretty much ended the conversation. Tim floated along in cottony bliss for a while, eventually pulling away once he felt he could get back to work without risking permanent damage to his spine. Jason’s suggestion of taking his shirt off also served as motivation to stop before he did something stupid, like agree. That would probably destroy productivity better than a sore back. He rolled his shoulder out of Jason’s grip with a sigh, turning to give Jason a grateful, albeit hazy smile.

“Oh god, I can actually move without dying. I take back anything mean I ever said to you, you are an incredibly talented human being,” he gushed, squeezing Jason’s hand in thanks.

“Well that just makes it all worth it, even if you didn’t take off your shirt. You know, that’s the only way to get the full effect.” He wagged his eyebrows in his stupidly charming way and Tim rolled his eyes with a smile. Jason made a move to get up, stretching his own shoulders enough that his shirt rode up a sliver.

Tim blinked, swallowed, and snapped back to focus. “Wait, you don’t have to leave. Didn’t you need something when you came in? You looked kind of stressed during our meeting with Bruce. Is everything okay?” Tim asked, confused. “We got a bit sidetracked with my complaining, so I forgot to ask before.”

“Nah, shit’s fine. B’s just being B. I just wanted to see your smiling face is all,” he said, turning partially towards the door. “I’ve actually gotta go get some stuff organized for one of my guys. Glad I could help loosen you up though, feel free to ask if you need another rub down.” His parting smile was dripping with innuendo and mirth.

Tim snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’ll be sure to come straight to you if that happens. Later then, I guess.”

Jason departed with another winsome smile and Tim looked back to the piles of displaced, and completely uninviting hard drives left to crack. Well, he might as well get back to work. Maybe another ten hours of encryption breaking would give him an excuse to get Jason to touch him again.

Two hours into it though, Tim found himself completely devoid of motivation. Any concentration he had had was taken when Jason left, and he found himself in need of a break. A bite to eat, a shower, maybe even a walk outside to clear away the strings of numbers buzzing through his brain at mach five. He stretched for a minute, the massage from earlier having done a wonderful job of wrestling his muscles into some semblance of normality, before heading out of the room and towards the kitchen. He rustled up some food and carried it into the spacious living room, content to eat and veg out for a half hour, hour tops before getting back to work.

He made short work of three sloppily made sandwiches, downed a glass of juice, and promptly fell asleep on the couch all within ten minutes.

It was dark when he awoke. Someone, probably Alfred, had come by and cleaned up his plate and glass. There was a blanket carefully tucked around him and a small pillow beneath his head, saving him from having another pain in his neck. His heart clenched at the gesture. He couldn’t remember the last time he had woken up and found someone had taken care of him. Not like this.

The clock on the Blu-ray player blinked at him, flickering the lateness in his face like a lighthouse beacon. He had wasted so much time sleeping. It was far past time for him to get back to work.

The dark house was a bit difficult to navigate, but compared to scaling buildings in the dead of night in hopes of snapping candid shots of mobsters, Tim found his way back to the guest room with little difficulty. If he clipped a couple corners or tripped over a rug, well, that was between him and the portraits.

He was gearing up to another bout of tedious hunching when he flicked on the light switch, only to stop in the doorway. He stared into the room for a moment, stepped back out, and checked to make sure that he was indeed in the right guest room.

Books, chair, desk, and even the goose-neck lamp: it was like his bedroom back home. Upon closer inspection, he realized they were _his._ Tim knew he had been pretty out of it before, but he’d slept recently. There was no way he was imagining this. A muffled noise drew his attention away from the room’s new additions and onto the bed where Jason was sleeping. Tim felt himself smile. Of course it was him.

He moved towards the bed, sitting down on the corner. Jason had taken the liberty of moving all of the drives and electronic paraphernalia to his desk and had made himself comfortable on top of the bedspread. Tim nudged him gently, smiling at him as he slowly became alert.

“So it looks like someone moved in while I was out,” Tim began, gesturing at the desk and chair.

Jason yawned into his fist and stretched languidly, completely at ease with being caught in the act. “You could always bunk with me if you don’t like it, pretty bird.” Even half asleep Jason’s smirk was strong. He slowly pulled himself upright and scooted over a bit to let Tim sit more fully on the bed.

Tim fought off a blush and looked at the bookshelf. His entire collection was nestled in the shelves. “I think I can learn to live with it,” he replied, a bit overwhelmed. “You really didn’t have to do all of this, I can’t even imagine how difficult it must’ve been to sneak all of this out of my room without anyone seeing.”

“It wasn’t a big deal, I was out anyway,” Jason shrugged, averting his eyes this time. “And it was worth it if it makes you think of this as your room.” He dragged a hand through his hair, the leather of the jacket he fell asleep in crinkling at the movement. His eyes flicked back to Tim’s. “Do you like it?”

Biting his lip, Tim lost the battle controlling his grin. “Well there aren’t any Star Wars posters, but besides that, yeah. I really do.”

It was Jason’s turn to smile. “Then it was all worth it.” He gave the room one last look before easing himself off the bed, stretching himself as he went. “I think it’s time for me to get back to my own room, let you get settled in with the new set up. Damian went out and got some shit from that Undine asshole, its somewhere in the pile on your desk. Figured you’d probably want to get started on that sooner rather than later. That is,” he said with a rakish look, “unless you’d like to come with me.”

Tim laughed, standing up to walk Jason to the door. “Tempting, but I’ve got to make sure you didn’t pilfer any of my book collection.” He leaned on the doorframe as Jason passed through, snagging his sleeve at the last moment with a smile.

“I really do appreciate it, Jason,” he thanked, tilting his head up to kiss Jason on the cheek.

Jason saw it coming this time, turning at just the right moment to make their lips connect.

As far as surprise first kisses go, it was chaste. Nothing more than a brushing of lips, but Tim felt himself blush up to his ears. He could feel Jason’s victorious grin and it only succeeded in flustering him more. Surprisingly, it was Jason who pulled away first. His self-satisfied expression only brightened as he took in Tim’s state.

“You’re welcome pretty bird,” he chuckled, reaching out to tuck Tim’s bangs behind his ear. He leaned in again, pressing another kiss to Tim’s cheek. “But, as fun as this is,” he began, smiling at Tim’s fingers tangling themselves in the fabric of his shirt, “I think it’s your bedtime.”

It was astonishing how cold he felt the moment Jason pulled away, even with the vibrations of his words still burning in his ears. Tim stood in his doorway and watched Jason saunter back to his own room, stupefied and stunned and more than slightly turned on. It was only when he heard the far door close behind Jason that the spell broke, bringing the world back into focus. Tim groaned into the doorjamb, eventually gathering the will power to walk the ten feet between the door and his bed and collapse face first into the still-warm sheets.

It took him a moment to realize that the pillow he was smothering himself with was from his own bed. It smelled like his room and Jason, and for the first time in a long time, Tim felt like he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas everyone!! i hope you all have a good holiday season and eat lots of good food~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new years guys!!

Dick found that the new responsibilities that came with his upgraded job brought a new meaning to the word ‘stressful’. Back when he had still been stuck filing papers and transferring calls, he had gotten a glimpse of the occasional closed door meeting or shady character showing up unannounced to speak to Bruce on “important matters.” There weren’t many instances of it happening, but there were enough that Dick had been able to get the impression that Bruce conducted a significant amount of his business at the office. His promotion to Mob P.A. however seemed to give Bruce the added incentive to schedule the majority of his meetings to coincide when Dick was on the clock, upping his responsibilities and work load considerably.

From what he had gathered so far on the inner workings of the mob’s main revenue flow, they weren’t up to much. Sure he had been privy to a couple meetings discussing some basic RICO level felonies but things like prostitution, narcotics pushing, and other popular scum bag mafia fare wasn’t mentioned. He couldn’t tell if it was because Bruce was purposefully keeping him out of those meetings or if the Wayne Family just didn’t operate in those fields. Either way, the meetings kept him busy and on his toes.

Gone were the days where he would lounge aimlessly at his desk, counting the ceiling titles. No, now Dick found himself fielding dozens of phone calls, all from mysterious callers with obvious aliases demanding to speak to Mr. Wayne. Nearly every meeting required his presence as a note taker, and Bruce would even call him into his office to ask his opinion on something, such as whether he thought the Family’s resources were better spent on pharmaceutical drug smuggling instead of white collar stock market fixing, and whether Jason’s anti-street narcotics rule was in fact helping reduce the tensions between the Wayne’s markets and other Gotham gangs. It was a lot of new, sudden information to process and Dick, while receiving a crash course in the specifics of the Family’s avenues of business, was finding himself bombarded with a flood of new duties. It was getting difficult to keep his head above water.

He sat at his desk and stared at the large stack of notes he had accumulated from the slew of morning meetings he had been privy to. Bruce had instructed him to mark pertinent information, such as dates, figures, and names, and to type them up into a comprehensive summary of minutes during his free time. Dick sighed heavily and began typing, trying to absorb as much of the data as possible for his own binder, which he now kept at home. There was so much more pressure on him now to perform that he had quickly grown paranoid at keeping it with him, where anyone could demand to see it while he was on the clock. People got nervous when they saw someone writing things down while they talked, and he was past the point where he was willing to risk it.

With fingers darting along home row, he began typing out the hastily scribbled notes. It had been almost three weeks since his last meeting with Gordon. Three weeks since he had been inducted into the Wayne Family. There wasn’t much free time anymore, it’d gotten pretty difficult to sneak off long enough to make a phone call down to headquarters, let alone visit in person. It was like Bruce was trying to monopolize him.

At least he actually had human interaction on the job now to make up for his lack of a social life outside the office, he thought optimistically in between keystrokes. No more sitting all alone in the foyer, cold and ignored by his boss. He got to sit on the side couch in the office and offer his input when asked, and now that more of the Family knew him he was getting to have entertaining conversations with visitors while they waited for their meetings. Tim and Jason came in often and always made sure to spend at least ten minutes chatting with him. It was a good opportunity to better relations with Bruce’s underlings, and to keep an eye on how Tim was doing. Dick still felt uncomfortable keeping silent about Tim’s involvement, but he couldn’t risk blowing the operation by making something of it. He welcomed the little breaks where he got to catch up with him, if only to make sure that Tim was still alive, well, and safe. It was like a little sliver of normality amidst a sea of paranoid deception, but he always felt a hint of pressure at Tim’s capability to rat him out. Jason’s visits on the other hand were decidedly less comforting.

Dick still felt wary around Jason, despite the frequent and often friendly conversations they had. He had a tendency to visit often and not always with Tim in order to conduct his own private meetings and business with Bruce. It gave Dick plenty of opportunity to get to know him, and to get a read on his temperament.

On the outside, Jason seemed unassuming, like any other two bit thug that made his living breaking knee caps and skirting the law. His constant flirting, slang, and rough mannerisms coupled with his brash nature pinned him as someone Dick should write off. But Dick noticed things, like little turns of phrase and sudden glimmers of insight that painted Jason as something much more dangerous. The man was loyal, of that there was no question. He may hassle and needle Bruce at every turn, but the man was dedicated to the Family and always put his duty first. From what he could gather from his chats with Jason and Damian, Jason’s insistence on not killing Tim outright when they found him was the first time he had ever deviated from the set protocol, and that had mainly been due to Jason seeing a potential asset. The blatant sexual display had been a mask if anything, something to disarm his opponent so they couldn’t see his true motive. The man was smart, crafty, and the more Dick got to know him the more he noticed the duality, and how stupid he’d been to write Jason off when they first met.

He was Bruce’s second after all, and a man like Bruce Wayne didn’t grant power to people in his organization just because they were family. If he did, Damian would be higher ranked even though he was still just a kid. No, nepotism was not a factor in Jason’s ranking. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing and Dick did not feel entirely comfortable idly shooting the breeze with his throat on display.

He sat back in his chair and stretched, cracking his knuckles above his head. These people were dangerous, no matter how much they flirted, joked, or spoke with him. A sigh broke from him and he quickly typed up the last of the notes. They weren’t terribly detailed but Bruce hadn’t commented on them so far so he figured they were good enough. One email attachment later and they were sent to Bruce, leaving him with little to do until lunch. He welcomed the break.

It wasn’t long before the elevator chimed and opened up to Damian. Dick smiled brightly at him and perked up, thankful for at least some company, even if it only lasted a few short sentences.

“Hey Damian, how are you today?” He greeted, leaning his weight on his crossed arms. Damian slowly, and a bit reluctantly, stopped in front of the desk. His expression was a little uncomfortable but overall didn’t look too standoffish.

“Grayson,” he said en lieu of a proper greeting, something Dick was beginning to realize was about par for the course when it came to talking to Damian. “I require a meeting with Father,” he informed Dick, gesturing with a nod towards the phone on his desk. Dick hadn’t thought he had a scheduled meeting today. Something unexpected must have come up on Damian’s end.

“Okay, give me just a second.” He quickly dialed the extension and counted the rings. It had become a little game of his to see just how long it took Bruce to pick up the phone before and after his regular coffee breaks. This one took four and a half. He made a mental note to get him a refill. He explained the reason for the call, gave a few affirmatives, and hung up. Dick looked up at Damian and gave him an apologetic smile. “Apparently something came up with Jason and Tim and they’ll be coming up to meet with him in a few minutes. He says he can meet you after, but it’ll be a couple hours.”

Damian grimaced and crossed his arms, obviously displeased. “Very well, I will remain here and wait.”

Dick’s eyes flickered to the modern clock hanging on the wall behind him. It was only fifteen minutes until his lunch break. His own work load was clear until after he got back from his break, and Bruce had never minded him taking an early lunch as long as there weren’t any important meetings to be missed. He looked back at Damian.

“Well since you’ve got some time to kill, how do you feel about having lunch together? It’ll give us a chance to talk,” he offered, smiling winningly. Damian was notoriously prone to avoiding his little desk side chats while he waited for the office to open up and this would be a good chance to buddy up to him some more. So far Damian had seemed like the best choice to get close to, what with him vouching for him and everything.

Damian looked steamrolled. It took him a few seconds to build a response. “I do not think that is necessary, Grayson. I am perfectly content to wait here until my audience is granted,” he started. Dick smoothly cut him off, already shutting his computer into standby after shooting a quick memo to Bruce about taking his lunch early.

“Nonsense, Mr. Wayne said it’d be a few hours and you really shouldn’t miss lunch just to wait in the foyer here. Come on, you pick, I’ll buy,” he offered, walking around to the other side of the desk. “Besides, I know you don’t like hanging around Jason and Tim when they’re together. This way you can avoid them AND have lunch.”

It was no secret that Damian wasn’t fond of Tim, even less so of his and Jason’s obviously non-platonic relationship. Giving him an excuse to avoid being in the same room as them was the perfect way to convince him to tag along. Damian bit his lip and tried to remain aloof, as if it wasn’t obvious his resolve was crumbling.

“Very well, Grayson. I will accompany you,” he gave in a bit haughtily, as if he was doing Dick a favor by agreeing. Dick just smiled and shrugged on his jacket, leading Damian towards the elevator.

“Awesome, this is going to be great.”

They rode down in amicable silence and Dick gestured for Damian to lead once they hit the street, reminding him that it was his choice. Damian rolled his eyes and started down a side street that Dick had never used. They walked for a few minutes, Dick chatting away into the brisk air in attempts to entice Damian into conversation, until they arrived at a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Asian characters covered the façade and music was faintly audible through the door.

The inside was quiet and reserved like most Asian restaurants, the obscure location adding to the small number of customers sipping tea and eating. Small hand-pushed carts were periodically moved from tableside to tableside, offering an assortment of steamer baskets to the diners. Dick followed Damian inside, past the ‘please wait to be seated’ sign, and into a small table behind a screen with a reserved sign hanging from the corner. They were situated fairly close to the kitchen and wheeled carts were pulled in and out often. A petite, middle aged woman quickly came to the table, immediately bowing to Damian and greeting him in what sounded like Chinese. Damian replied in kind, a polite smile on his face. They conversed for a few minutes before the woman excused herself, and Dick beamed at the smile still on Damian’s face.

“She seems really nice. I take it you come here often?” he asked, giving the place a thorough once over. It wasn’t incredibly large, but the atmosphere definitely spoke of hosting a refined clientele.

Damian shrugged his shoulders and eased into his seat with a level of familiarity speaking of many visits. “I find that they are as authentic as can be found when this far from Asia. Father also extends to them protection, so they are suitably grateful for our patronage,” he responded.

“Do you do that a lot? Extend protection, I mean,” he asked, perking up at the prospect of information. They hadn’t had any intel suggesting the Wayne’s participated in this kind of extortion.

“We do so when the business in question is under threat from those less kind than ourselves. Father considers it charity, a way to protect the neighborhoods in which we operate and gain favor within communities.” The woman returned with a young man in tow, pushing one of the carts. Small, decorative plates were set before them and, after a smattering of Chinese between the woman and Damian, select steamer baskets were placed on the table. “What would you like to drink, Grayson,” Damian asked in between bursts of Chinese.

“Um, I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he managed, a bit disoriented by the language swapping. Damian nodded and assumingly ordered their drinks before dismissing the servers. Dick waited until they had retreated out of earshot before continuing. “So he doesn’t charge them for protection? I thought extortion was a normal profit avenue for you guys,” he asked, scooting himself a little closer to the table to peek into the baskets. They were filled with dumplings and smelled heavenly.

Damian smacked his hand away from the lid he was holding. “Wait until the tea is here first,” he chastised. “My Father only allows the Family to extort profit from other illegitimate organizations. He feels it is not right to further inconvenience those that remain outside of our sphere.”

That was….not what he had been expecting. Every file he had read on the Gotham crime families always spoke of the detrimental effects felt by the citizenry when the local businesses were targeted by protection rackets. That’s how it had been at Haly’s at least. He kept his expression schooled but made a mental note to do some digging. There was no way a mob protected innocents for free.

Their conversation ended when the woman returned, this time with a young woman pushing a tea cart. She served them jasmine tea in little cups before placing the tea pot in the center of the table. Damian tapped the table next to his cup with his pointer and middle fingers and looked at Dick until he did the same. Both women bowed before leaving, Damian thanking them in Chinese as they left. He gave Dick a nod, permitting him to finally dig in.

Nothing looked very familiar to him but he was a fairly adventurous diner. “So what is all of this? It smells really good,” he asked, picking up the ornate pair of chopsticks seated on his plate. He situated them carefully in his hand before looking to Damian for guidance.

Damian confidently snagged a dumpling with his own chopsticks and placed it on Dick’s plate before picking one for himself. “Dim sum. Each basket is different, these are shrimp,” he said, pointing at a far basket, “this is pork, chicken, cabbage,” he gestured at the others in turn. “If there is one you like greatly, I will ask for more.” He waited until Dick bit into the one he had on his plate before eating his own.

The one Dick had been given was chicken and the salty savory morsel seemed to melt in his mouth. He made an appreciative noise and made an attempt to pick up a shrimp one next. His chopsticks fumbled though and he blushed. It was a pretty fancy looking place and he couldn’t even handle his utensils correctly. “Wow, sorry, I don’t use chopsticks very often,” he apologized.

He was a tiny bit mortified when Damian started to chuckle. “Here,” he said, setting down his pair to reposition Dick’s grip. “Do not make a mess of yourself, Grayson. If you require cutlery I can have a set brought out for you. It is not considered a faux pas.” Dick checked his new grip and found it much steadier. He smiled brightly and laughed a little.

“Nah, I think I got the hang of it now,” he said, successfully picking up the elusive shrimp dumpling he had fumbled before. “Hah! Success!” he exclaimed, proud of his accomplishment. Damian rolled his eyes and sipped his tea. They continued on in much the same way, with Dick trying the assortment of dumplings, taking special care to listen to any suggestions or advice Damian offered on the type or order.

Eventually, Dick had eaten his fill and emptied his tea cup for the last time, stopping Damian from refilling it again. Apparently it was considered polite to refill the other’s cup for them, along with making the same finger tapping motion once it was done. Damian, content with letting Dick consume the majority of the dim sum, had sat and watched him, occasionally making comment to how foolish he looked with his cheeks stuffed or the deplorable way he handled his chopsticks.

“Wow, that was really, really good, Damian. I’m glad I had you pick the place,” Dick admitted, leaning back in his chair. This was definitely a new favorite restaurant for him and he made a mental note to tell Wally about it in case he ever wanted to try something a little more adventurous than cheap diner food.

Damian shrugged a shoulder and looked away, “I am glad to have enlightened you.” He pulled out his phone and checked the time. More than an hour had passed, and it was past getting time for Dick to get back to work.

As if summoned, the woman returned with a bus boy in tow, taking Damian’s hand and holding it as she spoke, her voice heavy with gratitude and feeling. Damian smiled and responded, gesturing at Dick as he did so. The woman turned to him and took his hand as well, her eyes crinkled with joy. Dick smiled back and nodded dumbly to whatever she was saying, and Damian rolled his eyes again. “She is happy that you enjoyed the meal and wishes you would return as often as you like, free of charge,” he translated, obviously taking pity on him.

Dick was a little startled, but he just nodded. “Uh, wow, that’s really nice of her, can you tell her thank you for me?” he managed. This lady was certainly not ungrateful or fearful of the Family.

Damian made the proper thank you’s and farewells and pulled Dick towards the door with one last half-bow to the waving woman. Dick did not miss the fact that they were not asked to pay.

They were half way back to Wayne Enterprises when Dick found his voice. “She’s really fond of you,” he stated, watching Damian’s relaxed expression. He had never seen him smile so freely before, or let someone touch him so casually.

“She has reason to be. I have been a longtime patron of hers,” he said after a moment’s silence. “I did not take well to her establishment being threatened by the Penguin’s gang of cretins, and Father offered her protection. She is grateful, and she shows it any way she can,” he explained, a little bit uncomfortably. Dick didn’t think he liked talking about himself, or that fact that he cared.

“Well, she seems like a very nice woman. I’m glad you were able to help her. It’s nice to know that you’re welcome there like family, it makes it a lot more comfortable,” Dick responded. The lack of extortion was becoming more and more legitimate the longer Damian spoke about it. He’d definitely need to make a note of it.

They entered the office foyer without incident and Dick went behind the desk, booting his computer back up and sending another memo to Bruce that he was back. Damian lingered by the desk and watched, unwilling to leave it at that it seemed.

Dick checked the clock again. “I think Jason and Tim should be finishing up pretty soon. Thanks for keeping me company, Damian. We should do it again sometime, I had a great time.” The interesting thing was that he really did enjoy himself. The food was delicious, Damian was engaging, and the outing had been a lot of fun.

Damian huffed and leaned his back against the desk top, looking at the far wall. “If you would ever like to have your palette expanded further, you do know where I live. Father has given you the manor access codes,” he mumbled a bit, kicking a foot and decidedly avoiding eye contact. “With Todd and the liability constantly at each other’s beck and call, it would be a welcome change of pace to have someone who isn’t a simpering fool around with whom I could converse.”

He was glad Damian’s back was turned as he choked on a bubble of laughter, his hand glued across his mouth. That had to be the most passive aggressive invitation he had ever heard. It took him a moment to control himself, and his reply was cut off by the office door opening and Jason and Tim filing out. Jason’s expression morphed from frustration to glee as he caught sight of them at the desk, coats still on and obviously just back from lunch.

“Well, look at that, they’re back from their lunch date,” Jason joked, wrapping his arm around Tim’s waist. “We missed you, Dick. You know how much we look forward to seeing your smiling face.”

Damian glared daggers at Jason and put a few feet of distance between himself and the desk. Tim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He smiled at Dick and untangled himself from Jason’s half embrace, staring up at him a bit oddly. Dick noted it, but figured it was probably nothing.

“How are you, Dick? Did you end up finishing those ledger entries?” he enquired, asking after a project Dick had been working on the last time he had been in. He let Damian and Jason squabble off to the side as they caught up, Dick asking after Tim and his current work. Eventually Tim pulled away, pointing out that he and Jason had another engagement that needed attending. He said his goodbyes and Jason was quickly on his heels, calling out a quick retort to Damian’s fuming and a “See you later!” to Dick as they both entered the elevator.

Dick sighed, a little exhausted from Jason’s specific brand of energy. He looked to Damian who was half way to Bruce’s office door. A sudden idea had him spring from his desk chair and almost leaping over the desk in order to catch Damian before he went inside.

“Hey! Can I have your number?”

The look on Damian’s face was part shocked, part pleased. “Excuse me?” he managed, taking a step back from the door to properly face Dick for the first time since entering the foyer.

Dick continued, unabashed. This was a great idea and he was going to see it through. “Yeah, in case I ever want to hit you up to hang out. I had a lot of fun today and I would really like to do it again sometime.” Dick pulled out his cell phone and pulled up the new contacts page, practically shoving the device into Damian’s lax grip. There was no way this wouldn’t work.

Damian floundered a little but thankfully didn’t drop his phone. He stared at the screen for a moment before inputting his number and handing it back, his expression unreadable. Dick grinned and saved it, clapping Damian on the shoulder.

“Thank you so much!” he bubbled. Damian managed a nod before entering Bruce’s office. Dick shot off a quick text message to Damian so he’d have his number, and he sat down in his chair, congratulating himself on a job well done.

Inside the office, Damian greeted his father briefly before a text alert sounded on his phone. He looked to Bruce, who was occupied with organizing a bundle of papers and therefore not quite ready for him. He pulled out his cell phone and thumbed open the lock screen, noting the unfamiliar number.

*758-9384: Hey its dick!!

The message read, followed by an assortment of smiley winking faces. Damian’s eyes widened, and his father took that moment to look up and take notice of him. He shoved his phone into his pocket and fought to bring himself under control.

“Father,” he greeted, taking a seat in front of the desk. “I come to ask for a task. There is no reason for me to remain sitting idly by as our resources come under attack.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair and stared levelly at him, his expression unreadable. He flipped through a few papers that were scattered across his desk and pulled one out. “I agree,” he responded, handing the paper to him. “It has recently come to my attention that this man, a Felix Undine, has pertinent information regarding the identity of the one responsible for our recent difficulties. I believe we have need of your particular skill set in recovering this information.”

Damian studied the sheet. It was a profile. A picture, biography, residential details, and retrieval requests were all listed beneath the scribbled notes adorning the top margins. He recognized it as Drake’s handwriting. “So Todd and the liability’s partnership is yielding results, I take it?” he commented, already mentally mapping the address’s access points. He knew from memory that the apartment in question faced a factory wall, the back banked by a river way. It would be simple to infiltrate.

“Extensively. Tim has a way with uncovering all manner of data and you know Jason. He’s always been good at his work. They make a good team.” Bruce steepled his fingers and nodded at the paper in Damian’s hands. “If you are so eager for an assignment, here it is. You know how to proceed, be sure to retrieve the various storage devices outlined in the profile. Once you’ve retrieved them you can bring them to Tim for analysis.”

It was satisfying to receive a job, especially after being reduced to idle faction managing while Todd and his limpet spent the majority of their time out widening the net. To be able to use his mother’s training to help his father, well that was simply added gratification.

“I will have it completed. Is there anything else you require?” he asked, moving to leave. It was at that moment that his cell phone went off, yet again. He pulled it out and to his dismay had another text message from Grayson.

*758-9384: I cant wait to go out with you again!! Text me soon, k? Im always here for you!

There were even more gratuitous winking faces and smiles. Despite his hardest attempts, Damian felt his face erupt in a hot flush. The man had no shame. No shame whatsoever.

“Who is it that you’re texting, Damian?” he asked with some measure of curiosity. He was obviously curious as to the person who could prompt that sort of reaction from him. Damian fought to control himself before he replied.

“Grayson. We had lunch together and he wishes to do so again,” he managed to get out with only a slight waver in his voice. Damian quickly cancelled out of the message app and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

Bruce smiled behind his desk. “I’m very glad that the two of you are spending time together,” he approved, handing another stack of papers to him. “He’s a good man and I think he’d be good for you. Here, I have some rumors that have been circulating in your areas and I’d like your opinion.”

Damian’s vision sharply went white and his mind blank. He managed to take the papers in hand somewhat woodenly and give some sort of noncommittal response while he was forced to accept the horrific reality that his father had just given his blessing.

The horrific reality that Todd was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was definitely a favorite to write, i got to combine some of the best things known to man: batboys and dim sum!! anyway, ive got a party to be setting up so have a great new years and i look forward to carrying this story into the next year with all of you!! until next time~


	13. Chapter 13

*649-9211: Todd and Drake are being belligerent.

It was a quiet Saturday, the first in a while where Dick found himself with free time away from the office or manor. It was a godsend and couldn’t have happened at a better time. That morning he had found himself staring at an empty fridge with only one set of clean socks and an old college hoodie to his name. He stared down at the text message, the corners of his mouth curling up into a proud smile. He knew he’d wear the kid down eventually.

*758-9384: arent they always ^_^’

He’d barely set the phone down to pull his laundry out of the dryer before it was vibrating again. A young college student cleared his throat impatiently behind him, waiting on his machine.

“Sorry man, two seconds and I’ll be out, okay?”

*649-9211: What are you doing?

Dick raised a brow. Damian was being especially forward today. Bumping the dryer door shut with his hip, Dick grabbed his hamper and made his way to the table in the corner of the laundromat he’d claimed as his own. He still had another load yet to start but it was pretty busy. Might as well kill some time texting until a machine opened up.

*758-9384: laundry + errands y

*649-9211: You should come here and stop Todd and Drake from being belligerent in my general vicinity.

A gaggle of elderly ladies glared at him when he snorted. He threw them an apologetic smile and waited for them to go back to their aggressive knitting before kicking back in the chair and replying.

*758-9384: I would but ive got a load yet to do b4 i can leave + all the machines r full rn :(

*758-9384: gotta wait here unless u want to do my laundry 4 me lol

The reply was almost instantaneous.

*649-9211: Done. I’m sending out a driver to get you now. ETA 7 minutes.

He gaped, furiously texting back before staring, horrified at the binders, papers, and laptop all displaying his case progress spread out on the table.

*758-9384: wat how do u even know were i am????

*649-9211: You are a creature of habit, Grayson. It is not difficult to guess.

As if that explained it. Dick jolted upright and started stacking things as quickly as he could. He jammed all of his belongings and case folders into his backpack, propped his hamper of half-clean laundry on his hip, and darted out of the laundromat. He heaved a prayer of thanks to the heavens as he ran. Wally’s place was across the street. He could ditch the incriminating stuff there.

Sprinting up the three flights of stairs, he skidded to a stop in front of Wally’s apartment and pounded on the door. He glanced at the clock on his cellphone.

He had four minutes.                       

He banged harder.

The door opened between heavy knocks, almost resulting in Wally being punched in the face.

“What the fuck, Dick. You aren’t suppose—”

Dick shoved his way inside enough to throw his bag onto the couch before darting back out into the hallway.

“I’ll call you later!” he shouted over his shoulder, already halfway down the flight of stairs. He almost lost his hamper as the front door snagged him on the way out but he managed to keep his grip.

A dark, obviously Wayne-affiliated car was just turning the corner when he collapsed onto the curb, gasping for breath and heart pounding. The cell clenched in his hand vibrated and he relaxed slowly, pulling himself upright and towards his ride. Crisis averted.

*649-9211: I trust you are on your way?

*758-9384: yah b there in a few

The car ride was uneventful, and besides the driver looking at him a bit oddly when he got in still red faced and panting, he had nothing on him to indicate he was anything but who he said he was. The hamper of laundry on the seat beside him didn’t have any of his police uniform inside. That had been stored away at the station after the first close call with Damian.

The cold window felt nice against his forehead. This wasn’t the first time Damian had asked him to come over, but right now it definitely felt like it. It was usually under the excuse of Bruce needing something done that couldn’t wait until the next day, or even that Jason had stolen his phone but hey he was here anyway, might as well have him stay awhile right? It was cute when it didn’t result in kidnapping, like it had today. Damian didn’t usually go to such lengths just to get him to come over.

He wondered what Wally would say when he told him he ran out like that just to get a free load of laundry. Probably just lob another salt shaker at his head.

Eventually the manor came into sight and Dick gathered up his laundry basket, feeling incredibly stupid carrying it while wearing the dregs of his wardrobe. He’d never seen Damian in anything less than his formal suit attire, and while Jason was a bit rough he always looked semi-professional. Alfred was going to think he was homeless, coming to their manor just to do laundry. Dick sighed and resolved himself to looking like an idiot. He entered the access code for the side door and let himself inside.

He made his way through the halls and towards the left wing with a familiarity born of the many impromptu meeting call-outs Bruce was growing fond of. It wasn’t something Dick was insanely comfortable with, but the opportunity to get information outside of the normal humdrum of the office was more than he could justify passing up. At least it gave him access to the manor’s laundry room, he figured. He shifted the hamper higher up on his hip and cocked his head, listening for the telltale sounds of squabbling. If Jason and Tim were indeed being a nuisance, they were more than likely occupying one of the entertainment or common rooms where Damian was known to haunt. The kid could be so persnickety about his personal space, even if he chose to frequent public areas of the manor. Sometimes Dick figured he did it on purpose, just as an excuse to socialize.

Halfway down the hall and he was already picking up sounds of a heated argument. Sighing, Dick pushed ahead and into the room dominated by a large entertainment system, leather sofas, and three idiots far too old to be arguing over a remote control. Suddenly, his fears of being perceived an idiot vanished. Just like that.

Tim was pressed face first into the seat of the couch, legs flailing wildly in hopes of clipping something soft. The poor kid had somehow gotten himself pinned beneath Jason’s ass and Dick had a fleeting note of concern over his ability to breathe. Damian, usually so calm and calculating, was tangled around Jason in some sort of attempt to bind his limbs with his own body. The remote was being held high above him in Jason’s free hand and it was all he could do to keep it out of reach as Damian tried to choke him out with one hand. Damian’s face was red, his expression vicious, mouth spewing what had to be some colorful curses in what he now knew to be Arabic. It was almost comical, watching the notorious Demon practically climb the Red Hood like a jungle gym while they wrestled on top of Timmy. Well, it would have been if it weren’t so pathetic. They were acting more like sugared up preschoolers than known criminals. It was times like these that he really felt old. Might as well act like it then.

His entrance had been ignored amidst the chaos and Dick took the opportunity to snatch the remote right out of Jason’s outstretched hand. Their shrieks of rage were abruptly cut off as Jason and Damian finally looked in his direction, expressions of guilt and embarrassment evident. Poor Tim struggled to turn his neck too, but couldn’t quite manage. From what Dick could tell of the back of his head, he looked just as sheepish as the other two.

Dick raised an eyebrow.

“I’m here to see a man about a free load of laundry, not babysit three six year olds. Get off Tim before you kill him Jason.” God, he felt like such an old person.

Jason grimaced and shoved Damian off his chest before rolling off Tim’s still form. “I swear to fuckin’ God, they started it,” he started, rubbing at the ring of bruises already forming around his collar.

The sigh Dick made could have been heard from space. He looked to Damian instead of dignifying Jason with a response.

“You were literally texting me fifteen minutes ago. How did this even happen.”

Damian crossed his arms and tsked, avoiding eye contact. His face was still flushed from the fight, perfect hair in disarray. Dick couldn’t stop focusing on his jeans and t-shirt. “I told you. They were being belligerent. I retaliated as was required.”

Dick didn’t even know what to say to that. He shook his head and dropped the laundry basket into Damian’s denim-clad lap with a disbelieving chuckle. “Man, you guys are so weird. Either way, I was promised a machine that wouldn’t steal my quarters. If Tim’s not suffocated from Jason’s ass, I figure now would be a good time to do this. You know, before another fight breaks out over who gets the last pudding cup.”

“I’m good, just leave me here with my broken ribs,” Tim mumbled with his face still pressed into the sofa. His leg twitched abortively but he made no move to get up.

“Aw, I’m sorry pretty bird,” Jason apologized, stroking Tim’s hair. “Need me to kiss anything better?”

At that, Tim’s head perked up.

“You offering?”

Jason’s smirk was answer enough.

Dick took that as their cue to leave. He pulled at Damian’s shirt, jostling the sulking teenager in a way he wouldn’t have risked had he been wearing his usual suit. He really wasn’t in the mood to see that. “Come on Damian, show me where your laundry room is. I don’t want to get lost.”

Damian scoffed and stood, basket in hand and everything. He probably wasn’t keen on seeing his brother romance Timmy any more than he already had.

“You’re hopeless Grayson. Come.”

“Play nice!” Jason called to them as they left. Damian sneered over his shoulder and then they were off down the hall.

“He is an imbecile,” Damian muttered, shouldering his way through a swinging door off the center hall. He was kind enough to prop the door open with his foot, holding it for Dick to pass through instead of letting it smack him in the face. The hamper was tossed unceremoniously on a folding table next to the modern washer. “There. Let me call for Pennyworth and he shall see to your laundry.”

“Hey whoa, no, don’t do that,” Dick said, the embarrassment returning with a vengeance. “I don’t want to bother him with this, here, just show me where stuff is and I’ll put in a load myself.”

Damian rolled his eyes but seemed to acquiesce, pointing up at a shelf to Dick’s left. “It is his job, Grayson.” He watched as Dick pulled down the bottles of detergent and softener and began sorting the colors into piles.

Dick snorted. “You mean it’s his job to do your laundry. I don’t live here and I don’t think it’s fair to make him do my chores for me. Besides,” he reasoned, measuring out a capful and pouring it into the state-of-the-art washer, “it’s not like this is particularly challenging.”

He was answered by a noncommittal hum. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Damian pointedly looking down at the piles of clothes, a furrowed look on his brow.

“You do know how to do your own laundry though, right?” Dick asked, already knowing the answer.

The teenager scoffed and Dick could see how hard he was trying to not look embarrassed.

“As you have said. Pennyworth’s job is to see to such matters.”

Spoken like a true momma’s boy. Or in this case, Dick thought, a privileged kid with a butler. He tsked and closed the washer lid, turning to look at Damian still studiously focused on his sorted piles.

“It’s pretty easy. I can show you if you want, you know, in case Alfred isn’t around,” he offered. It wouldn’t do for the kid to go through life without knowing some of the basic rules to independent living. That is, his mind supplied suddenly, if he doesn’t end up in prison once this is all said and done.

Damian’s expression told him that something had shone on his face from that line of thinking. A sudden wave of guilt began to fester hotly in his stomach and he quickly tore his train of thought away from his true reason for being there.

“No,” Damian declined after a moment of silent consideration, of his offer or expression Dick couldn’t tell. “If such a time ever comes I can merely call upon you to do such tasks for me.”

Dick managed a smile and a weak laugh. It was so easy to forget that this was all a job sometimes. “Yeah, I guess you do have my number.” He looked back at the washer’s timer, regretting the direction his day had taken. He could probably do with some distance right now. “So, what do you want to do for the next few hours? Jason and Tim are probably settled, maybe,” he suggested, hoping to just sit down and watch a movie and avoid growing any more attached to the people he was supposed to be infiltrating.

“I would not presume to know when their dalliances conclude, but I doubt they have finished yet.” His expression was one of bitter distaste, and Dick couldn’t help but smile at that. “We could always spar though. That is,” he began with a smirk, “if you feel you can keep up.”

The grin that spread across his face this time was genuine. He was always a sucker for a good challenge, especially if it meant putting cocky brats in their place. “Seemed to keep up just fine last time we got physical. I think Jason even still has pictures,” Dick retorted, leaning his hip against the machine chugging along behind him. It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn there was a slight blush on Damian’s cheeks.

“You have yet to see me engage you fully,” Damian boasted, turning to lead them out of the laundry room. “I would refrain from celebrating prematurely. Now, come,” he ordered as he marched them down the hall.

Dick followed, looking down at his baggy shorts and ratty hoodie. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Say, you think you can spare me a different shirt? This thing isn’t really good for close combat,” he asked, tugging at the tight collar.

Damian spared him a quick once over and nodded. “Be it far from me to give you a reason to blame your inevitable loss on anything other than your own inadequacy.” There was a quirk to his lips that softened the insult. It was something Dick had begun to pick up over the course of their interactions.

“Big talk coming from the guy who got hogtied to a desk by a secretary,” Dick laughed, following Damian downstairs and to one of the larger exercise rooms. One of many, Dick had been told, completely astonished by the idea of a household needing one - let alone multiple - fitness centers. He tugged off his shirt and tossed it into a corner as Damian wandered over to a locker against a side wall where he pulled out some shorts for himself and a spare shirt. Judging from the size, it was probably one of Damian’s own.

He tossed it at Dick, purposefully aiming for his face. “I am going to savor your defeat,” Damian remarked, pausing in swapping his pants to watch Dick slip on the tight shirt for a moment. He waited as Dick toed off his shoes and joined him on one of the large mats spread on the floor before readying his stance.

There was little warning beyond a slight shift in Damian’s posture before Dick found himself blocking a vicious kick aimed at his throat. The ferocity was dizzying, and Dick suddenly remembered the specialized training Damian had spoken of before. The combat training in boot camp seemed woefully unprepared for Damian’s level of physical melee. Within minutes he was forced back and into a defensive position. A few minutes later, Dick found himself flat on his back with Damian straddling his chest, his forearm nearly crushing his throat.

Damian flashed a victorious smile. “Pity there is no desk to tie you to, Grayson,” he remarked nonchalantly, not even slightly out of breath. “I would have enjoyed seeing you bound and forced to accept my superiority, but I suppose I can still enjoy the latter like this.”

Dick sputtered, his mind going straight into the gutter as if a little Jason were on his shoulder providing commentary. He tugged at the arm cutting off his oxygen and Damian relaxed the pressure, easing off of Dick entirely, completely unaware of the innuendo contributing to at least a third of the redness on his cheeks. Dick coughed and rubbed at his sore neck, suppressing that train of thought entirely. There would probably be bruises on his bruises after today. Damian’s effortless display had him realizing just why Jason had been so shocked when he told everyone that he had won that night.

“Okay, okay, I’ll admit it,” Dick wheezed, taking the proffered hand and pulling himself upright. “You’re good. Man, I can’t imagine how strong your mom must be to teach you to fight like that.”

Damian smirked and readied his stance again. “My mother is in a class all her own. You would do well to remember this lesson, Grayson. I would hate for you to underestimate your opponent.” He was kind enough to wait for Dick to stop coughing before striking out once again.

They carried on in a similar vein for what felt like hours. Damian took the majority of the wins for himself, but over time Dick began to find a rhythm to his attacks. By the end, Dick had managed to win a few and he was mostly positive that they weren’t from Damian taking pity on him. Like the night they met, Damian took defeat surprisingly well, always smiling up at him with an almost proud expression on his face. He even went so far as to pause their matches to demonstrate a hold or move that might serve Dick well, his tone more kind than patronizing for once. It was fun, diverting, and exactly the sort of mind-numbing physical activity that Dick had been desperately needing. He was sure he’d be able to fall asleep easy that night.

It was after a particularly grueling bout that they found themselves lying on the floor, chests heaving and shirts damp with sweat. Dick, sometime between matches, had fetched some water bottles for them and was seriously considering pouring his over his head. Damian wasn’t faring much better and had ditched his shirt shortly after collapsing.

“That,” Dick heaved, “was intense.”

“It was definitely engaging,” Damian replied, pressing the cold bottle to his forehead. “Frankly I’m surprised a man of your age could keep up.”

Dick laughed and heaved himself up to rest on his elbows so he could look at Damian’s crooked smirk. “Whatever, I had you on the ropes for a bit there. It’s not my fault you’re young and spry and trained by ninja assassins.”

“It does come in handy when assassinating people,” he said, stretching his legs out. “That is partly why I wished to spar with you today. Father has me on assignment tonight and it is always preferable to limber up with a partner.” Damian lifted himself up and reached for his shirt so he could start his cool down stretches.

It was difficult to hide the ice forming in his gut. “Mr. Wayne seriously has you do assassinations?” Dick asked with a voice that fought to remain level. “You’re just a kid though.”

Damian shot him a glare. “I believe we have already discussed how I feel about being called a kid, Grayson.” He pulled the shirt over his head and started his stretching with an aggressive air. “This is simply one of my many duties in service to the Family and I conduct myself in my work to the best of my abilities.”

Dick bit his lip and watched the fluid movements, taking them in a whole new way now that he knew they were honed to be deadly. It was hard to see him as a kid with that in mind. “And you’re…happy…doing that sort of thing?” he asked carefully, hands fiddling with his water.

“It is work, I am good at it, and it aides the Family. Without my efforts we would be far less informed and at a serious disadvantage.” He bent down to place his hands flat against the floor, his flexibility flawless. “Are you happy in your job?” Damian asked suddenly, breaking Dick from his mulling.

“Uh, yeah. I think. I mean, I feel like I’m actually working now that your dad brought me into the loop so I feel useful,” Dick floundered.

Damian hummed and moved to stretch his biceps. “Then it is not a question of if I am happy in my work, but if I find it fulfilling. I help protect what my father has built, and that brings me a sense of contentment. That is all I need to make my work worth it.”

There really wasn’t anything Dick could say to that. It was so mature, but it was hard to forget that he was talking about killing people. He ran a hand through his sweat matted hair and forced his sore legs to stand. “I guess on some level I knew you guys did that sort of thing. It’s just hard to wrap my mind around it I guess.” It was a bit late, but he jumped into the stretches alongside Damian.

“If it is any consolation, it is not a regular thing. With the state of things as they are, Father has found it necessary to make certain decisions to safeguard the Family.” Damian took a moment to correct Dick’s posture before moving onto his next set.

Finally, safer conversation. “Yeah, about that. How’s the search going? You any closer to finding out who’s messing with everything?” Maybe he’d be able to get some kind of information to tell the Commish that wouldn’t make him sick to his stomach.

Damian grunted a bit as he worked a sore muscle. “Todd and the interloper have a name and a new avenue to explore, or so I’m told. I believe there was talk of a location that needed searched and, as Todd so eloquently put it, a few kneecaps to break. It is slow but it is progress,” he explained, standing upright. The bottle was emptied in a few deep pulls and Damian watched Dick finish up his cool down. “With any luck my job tonight will yield another cache of information.”

Dick whistled. “You all lead such exciting lives,” he remarked, finishing up the last stretch with a sigh. “My laundry’s probably ready for the dryer. You wanna clean up and go do that? Maybe watch a movie if you’ve got the time?”

Glancing quickly at the clock on the wall, Damian smiled. “I believe I can spare the time, if only to humor an old man.”

Dick couldn’t resist the urge to laugh. As he followed Damian down to the showers, he let the good mood fuel him. It had been a great day and he wasn’t ready to ruin it by ruminating on how much more complicated his life had gotten from learning Damian’s role in the family. He shot back a quick retort, content to leave reality for tomorrow.

He was going to pretend for as long as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay on this, i literally just got back from pennsylvania about ten minutes ago. i hope you enjoy it!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one might be my favorite chapter out of them all. i hope you enjoy~

There was nothing quite like the stink of a long abandoned meat-packaging warehouse to make a person regret waking up. Tim moved through the sea of boxes with his sleeve pressed against his nose, the fabric doing little to filter out the rotten air. Jason was of course unaffected. He was used to this, he had said after laughing at Tim’s discomfort. Growing up in Crime Alley inundates a kid against all sorts of unimaginable filth, and for the first time in a while Tim was regretting his privileged upbringing.

“God, how could they even get anything done having to breathe this air?” Tim griped, tearing through the assortment of boxes and crates left behind by the gang scamming the Gotham mob elite. “You’d think their productivity would’ve been shit in these conditions.”

Jason, of course, laughed. “Sorry princess, but not everyone’s as sensitive as you. If anything they chose this place because it incites that sort of reaction,” he explained, using a hammer to pry open a wooden crate. “Imagine if you were a cop busting this joint. I doubt you’d be as thorough if it meant staying in here longer.”

Tim groaned, imagining it. “There’s no way we can beat them, Jay. Not if they’re strong enough to function in this hellhole.” He dug through a soggy box one-handed, finding nothing but empty ammo boxes and mildew.

“Come over here, you prissy little fuck,” Jason called, gesturing. Tim sighed and wove his way through the maze of junk.

“What? Did you find something?” he asked, peering under Jason’s arm to look into the box he had been checking out.

Reaching into his jacket, Jason pulled out a bandana. “No, but I think we eventually might if you’re able to breathe in here without bitching and/or vomiting. Here,” he folded the fabric and pulled it across Tim’s nose and mouth. With a quick, well-practiced motion, he had it tied into a makeshift mask. “How’s that? Too tight?”

Tim took a few shallow breaths and found the stench much more manageable. “Nah, it’s perfect. Thanks,” he replied, patting Jason on the arm. “You always carry around a handkerchief?”

“Yeah, it’s something my mom taught me,” he answered, already elbow deep in his box again. “Never know when you’ll need one, and they’re pretty versatile.”

“I can tell.” Tim returned to his own searching, kicking aside some of the empty boxes to make room for a large crate near the wall. They weren’t making much progress. The entire warehouse floor was buried under a sea of boxes, the majority of which were empty or full of trash. He dug through a few more to no avail before deciding to take a break. The bandana was slipping a little and he needed to tighten it anyway.

Sitting himself down on one of the crates, Tim fiddled with the bandana, watching Jason pry open another lid. There were definitely more boxes than crates and Jason seemed to being deadset on opening them all. It would be a lot easier if they knew what exactly they were looking for. The trash ranged from newspapers to spent machine gun cartridges, neither lending much in the way of a lead. The boxes themselves were pretty random, most different sizes and material. Really, the only similarity was the smudged logo on the side.

Tim’s eyes widened.

He jumped off the crate and bent down to get a better look at the symbol adorning the majority of the boxes. It was strange, nothing like any he’d seen commercially. A quick image search on his phone brought zero results and Tim had to resist the desire to fist bump himself. Zero results meant it wasn’t commercial. Not commercial meant it was probably underground. That, coupled with the leads saying the gang had been dealing out of the warehouse, meant that the logo probably belonged to the one responsible.

Tim called out to Jason, showing him the find. It didn’t take long for him to reach Tim’s level of excitement, pulling him in and kissing him through the bandana. He barely had time to process it before it ended, Jason pulling away to snap pictures and cut the logo out of a nearby cardboard box. He was suddenly grateful for the mask, positive that his face was bright red beneath.

“Here, take this,” Jason said, proffering the piece of cardboard. “I’m going to call collection and have them clean this place out in case there’s more we missed.” Tim nodded and pocketed the piece, watching Jason wander off towards the doors to make the call.

His lips tingled through the fabric and he bit them, trying to get it under control. They had a job to do and he needed to focus. It didn’t take long for Jason to return, cell snapped closed and a new jaunt in his step. He was practically beaming and Tim all but forgot the stench.

“This is awesome, pretty bird! Finally got a lead that we can trace physically.” Jason held out a hand and Tim took it, following him out of the warehouse. “This calls for a celebration.”

Tim pulled down the bandana the second they hit the open air. “Let me guess. Chili dogs?” he asked with a knowing smile. He made to pass the handkerchief back to Jason but Jason waved it off.

“You keep that, you never know when it might come in handy. And yes, chili dogs. You know me so well,” he enthused, completely ecstatic at the idea of his favorite food.

“Stockholm Syndrome, that’s all it is,” Tim joked, tucking the square into his back pocket. “You wanna just walk? It’s nice out and I don’t think your approved food cart is too far from here.”

Jason tugged him forward and laced their fingers together. “Hell yeah, saves us from having to find a parking spot off that busy ass street.”

They carried on for a few blocks, joking and chatting. The fresh air did wonders for Tim’s head, clearing away the disgusting haze from the warehouse and brightening his mood. Jason was as giddy as a schoolboy, high off the victory of the logo and the prospect of his particular brand of ambrosia. The busy streets and only semi-cloudy day were idyllic.

They were so engaged in their own little world that they failed to notice the five foot five blonde on a war path.

“Timothy Jackson Drake, you get your ass over here!”

Tim froze mid-word in horror, the cadence and voice eliciting both joy and fear in equal, Pavlovian response. Tim quickly dropped Jason’s hand and spun on his heel, searching for his soon-to-be-murderer.

Stephanie had found him. She had found him and was getting closer and he was afraid. He hadn’t spoken to her in weeks and she was definitely going to kill him. Jason looked around confusedly, woefully unprepared for the maelstrom approaching. Tim was almost afraid for him, if he weren’t so concerned for his own life.

The moment she reached them, she let loose. “Jesus H. Christ Tim! You could’ve at least called me, you asshole!” Stephanie exclaimed, punching him squarely in the stomach. Tim was somewhat relieved by that. It could have been a brick. She continued to yell at him as he doubled over, his choking doing little to mask the sound of her rant, or the attention they were garnering. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you? How long I’ve been trying to figure out why the fuck you suddenly fell off the grid? You’re you Tim! You don’t just fall off the grid! I’ve never seen you miss a day on that stupid twitter feed you run but heaven help me boyfriend, you ever do this to me again and I’ll—”

Jason abruptly stepped in, hands waving and voice loud. “Wait wait wait, ‘boyfriend’? What the fuck pretty bird, I thought you said you were too stalkery to date?!”

Of course. Of course that’s what Jason would focus on at a time like this. Tim sucked in a breath and straightened up. “Oh my god will you both just shut up for a second and let me explain!” he wheezed, shoving Steph into an alleyway, trusting Jason to do like he always did and follow. They really did not need the entirety of Gotham’s passersby to witness this.

“Who the hell is this douchebag? Don’t tell me this is that mob goon you’ve been stalking for the past four years,” Steph snarled, grabbing Tim by the shirt collar and slamming him against a dirty wall. There went the little oxygen he had managed to get back.

“Yes Steph, this is that douchebag,” he answered with a gasp, placing his hands hesitantly on her shoulders. “And it’s a long story and if you wanna hear it, you gotta calm down, let me talk AND breathe, okay?”

Jason huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at the two of him. “Still pissed you didn’t tell me you were taken, Tim. I told you I don’t like poaching.”

Tim frowned over Steph’s shoulder and rolled his eyes. “Jesus Jason, we aren’t dating, okay? She’s an ex, we just call each other that, it’s a thing.” Tim leaned his head against the wall, already so very, very done with the entire situation. “Oh yeah. Steph, Jason. Jason, Steph.”

The animosity only seemed to thicken. Fuck his life.

“Okay. First things first. Steph, due to a lot of complicated things, I now am working for the Waynes. I haven’t been in contact because they took my old phone and gave me a new one and I couldn’t remember your number. I’m sorry but that’s the truth, please don’t hit me with another brick,” Tim explained in a rush, keeping himself braced for another punch.

“Wait, ‘another’ brick?” Jason asked incredulously, taking a step closer to them.

“That’s how we met, long story, I’ll tell you some other time,” Tim offered, his hand up to stop Jason from crowding Steph before she had calmed. Angry bear logic applied to her in these situations, and he was not willing to let Jason learn that the hard way. He liked Jason’s face the way it was, thanks.

Steph frowned angrily and blew her bangs from her eyes. “Jesus you’re an idiot, boyfriend. You still could’ve figured something out. I thought you had died or something,” she exhaled before rounding on Jason. “And you!” she said, jabbing her finger into Jason’s chest hard enough to make him flinch. “You’re that crazy asshole, the Red Hood. What gives? You don’t even let him have one phone call?”

Jason grabbed her hand and moved it away from his chest. “Hey, calm the fuck down, he never said he had anyone who would be worried about him goin’ AWOL. We’re the fuckin’ mob, not a prison.”

Tim coughed lightly and all eyes were back on him. “Uh well, you know how you said I only had four numbers on my cell, and three were delivery places?” He nodded towards Steph and the message was clear. “She’s uh. Well she’s my ex, but she’s also my main information source on the streets. So I uh….I usually keep in pretty constant contact with her.”

Jason buried his face in his hands. A muffled “Jesus fuck, pretty bird,” was heard before he uncovered his mouth. “Well. I’m not sure where we’re supposed to go from here.”

“We could start by giving Tim his fricken phone back so I don’t have to storm the front gate and beat down every one of you muscle headed thugs,” Steph threatened.

Tim slowly slid down the wall, leaning against it as he crouched with his head buried in his arms. This was the absolute worst way for these two to meet. “Steph, I swear to you that I am not being held against my will or anything, they really aren’t bad people and I know you know that. Listen, I’ll talk to Mr. Wayne, or Jason will, and I’ll make sure I can give you regular updates, okay?” He offered, looking at Jason for back up.

“Yeah, Tim’s been with us long enough that B’s not gonna care one way or the other ‘bout lettin’ him use his own cell.” Thankfully Jason was being cooperative now. Funny of how assurances of Tim’s perpetual single-dom did that.

Steph huffed, still a bit red faced from her rage fit. “Fine. Make sure it happens. I want a phone call tonight, at least two hours long, explaining in detail how you got yourself involved with the goddamned Red Hood,” she demanded, glaring again at Jason.

“Okay, yeah, fair enough,” he acquiesced, reaching up for her to help him stand. She grabbed his hand and yanked him upright and into a tight, worry-soaked hug. He rubbed her back and buried his face in her hair to avoid looking at Jason’s expression. It took a few minutes for Steph to loosen her grip and release him.

“You better not pull something like this again Drake, else I’m gonna beat you unconscious with a bag of bricks,” she threatened, smacking him in the chest for good measure. An alarm on her phone buzzed sharply, and she cursed. “Damn it, I’ve gotta go survey a buy. You better call me tonight,” Steph ground out, waiting for his hasty nod before kissing his cheek and turning to leave. She spared one last narrow eyed glare at Jason before darting out of the alleyway and off to wherever her latest intel source led.

Tim counted out the seconds it took for Jason to tire of staring and start demanding answers. The silence lasted barely fifteen before Jason’s blue-green eyes were in his face.

“We’re gonna have a long talk when we get home, you know that right?”

He sighed and rested his head against the solid warmth of Jason’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

“Chili dogs first though.”

Tim sighed, already relaxing back into their pre-Stephanie state.

“Yeah, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothin really witty to say this time around, but thank you to all the readers who've been sending me such nice messages both here and on tumblr! i really appreciate the support and it brightens up my day like you wouldn't believe. i hope you enjoyed our introduction to steph in this chapter. she'll be making some more appearances as we go. thanks as always~


	15. Chapter 15

“But yeah, that’s pretty much it. This Steph chick’s his ex and info gatherer. My guess is she’s the one who fed him all the info on our drops and buys so he could stalk us way back when.”

Jason was, as always, perched on the corner of Bruce’s desk during his bi-weekly update meeting. Bruce stared at the phone in question, the one containing this Steph girl’s phone number. He hadn’t considered Tim would have concerned parties to notice his absence. Not after the background check at least. Apparently Tim was better at keeping his private life private than Bruce originally thought.

“Do we have a last name on her?”

There was a moment’s silence while Jason tapped at his phone’s keypad, ostensibly to ask Tim. A minute later, the phone chimed in response. “Our mystery lady is a Miss Stephanie Brown. Have fun narrowing that name down. She’s blonde and angry if that helps any,” he offered with a grin. “Anyway, can Tim have his phone back? This Steph chick was royally pissed at him goin’ missing and I think she was serious about storming the grounds if she doesn’t hear from him by tonight.”

Bruce dismissed the warning with a look and typed the name into the computer in front of him. As Jason suggested, there were numerous results. A narrowing down of the search parameters, namely by age, location, and physical description, came up with a solid hit. He ignored Jason’s prattling and texting in favor of reading the profile.

Miss Stephanie Brown was a bit of a ghost, her profile containing only the barebones of the typical medical and courthouse records made readily available to the public. She had dropped out of school at age seventeen due to a pregnancy, gave the baby up for adoption, and had since made herself scarce. Bruce sat back in his seat. There wasn’t much to go on with her.

“Did Tim say what kind of information Miss Brown provided him?” he asked, cutting Jason off mid-sentence.

Jason blinked and rebounded quickly. “Well she knew who I was, so that’s something,” he started, swinging his legs as he thought. “And when she ran off she said something about having to go scope out a buy or drop. I think it’s safe to say she’s probably the one who tipped Tim off to all our shit, or at least helped him track us down. Why, you thinkin’ of recruiting?” Jason asked, head cocked.

Bruce drummed his fingers against the desk. “I’m thinking that she may be a good resource in regards to learning more about those appropriating our assets. If she is loyal to Tim to the degree you described, we may be able to persuade her to keep us informed of any whispers she hears.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but she didn’t seem very fond of mobs in general, let alone us. I could bring it up to pretty bird, but I wouldn’t call it a guarantee.”

“Ask him to mention it to her, and remind her that we are returning his phone as a sign of good faith,” Bruce ordered, passing the cell phone to Jason. “If nothing else, it will perhaps soften her opinion of us.”

Jason took the phone, dropping it into one of his many pockets. “Will do, B. Here’s hoping she turns ‘cause not gonna lie, if we had ten of her we’d control the entire city in under a week.” He slid off his perch and rested his weight against the desk. “That all then?”

“That’ll be all. Keep me posted on the situation,” he dismissed, nodding to his second as he exited the study.

Here’s hoping indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry the chapter is so short this time around but we're getting really close to the point of me running out of prewritten shit so im tryin to make it last. check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how you like this! i really cant tell you how much i love hearing from all of you~ until next time!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like shit so have this chapter early

“So, yeah,” Tim sighed, switching arms for the seventh time during the long call. “That’s pretty much it. I’m here until they figure out who’s messing with their accounts and settle the problem.”

He could hear the exhaustion in her silence. “Are you sure it’s just until this thing blows over? That Red Hood asshole seems pretty fond of you.”

Tim bit his lip and flopped back onto his bed. His pillow still smelled like Jason. “That’s what I’m assuming but it’s not like I’m going to just ask them when it’s okay for me to quit. And like I said before, it’s not so bad here. They’re all really friendly and I’m not in any danger,” he explained, gesturing needlessly with his free hand. “Or well, not in any more danger than I usually am considering my hobbies.”

“Yeah, probably doesn’t hurt that the guy you’ve been stalking since high school now lives with you,” she retorted, only somewhat joking. Tim scoffed and didn’t dignify her assumption with a reply.

“Whatever, Steph. He’s never hit me with a brick.” Tim had really missed talking to Steph. Jason and Dick were all well and good, but there was just something about Stephanie’s particular brand of abrasive wit that just made him feel at home. She was all he really had growing up, especially after his parents had deemed him old enough to be on his own, thus increasing the frequency and duration of their many transatlantic jaunts. Steph also had a habit of knowing things that only someone living with their ear to the ground could know, which had been a godsend when it came to his own proclivities for getting into trouble.

“Oh, hey, I just remembered something,” Tim said, sitting up and moving to the desk. “Jason and I found a warehouse off of Harding full of boxes with this weird logo on them. My checks keep coming up empty. Have you heard anything about new vendors or buyers coming to town recently?” He brought up the logo scan on his laptop and sent a quick copy to Steph’s email. He could hear the notification ding through the phone.

Steph was silent for a few moments, no doubt checking some of her own sources. “I haven’t seen the design before but I’ve got some feelers out on some new guys that rode into town maybe three weeks ago,” she shared. “Nobodies really, not affiliated with any of the usual suspects. I had ‘em bookmarked though cause they seemed suicidal to me.”

Tim frowned. “How so?” He opened up a new search tab and began to type, the cell pressed between his cheek and shoulder.

“Well why else would peddlers come into town and start promising weapons to every player in town at different rates? I figured they were just idiot newbies thinking they could scam the big boys, but I kept some eyes on them. If that shit blows up, it’s gonna blow big.”

“That’s what Jason was saying earlier,” Tim muttered, pouring through the Gotham Harbor’s shipping manifests from the past few weeks. “Can you send me the stuff you’ve got so far on them? And maybe keep me updated on anything new you find out?”

Steph scoffed, but Tim could hear the smile through the speaker. “You go missing for weeks and the first conversation we have you immediately start demanding services. You sure know how to make a lady feel special, boyfriend.”

Tim laughed and brought up a hand to cradle the phone. “I suppose that’s just how I am. Girls dig bad boys, right?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me? You know, seeing as you’re playing footsie with the Red Hood.”

“Goodnight Steph,” Tim said with a soft smile, only a little bit exasperated with her teasing. “If you hear anything, please let me know.”

Steph chuckled and sighed contentedly. “Yeah yeah, but I’m sending my bill to your new boyfriend. Night Tim.”

Tim ended the call with a smile on his face. He had no idea how much he missed talking to Stephanie until he couldn’t. With his cell phone back though, they could talk anytime they wanted now. Which was ultimately a very good move for the Waynes. Steph’s ability to gather intel would make monitoring the street situation a hell of a lot easier.

His fingers dancing across the keyboard, Tim began to scroll in earnest through the shipping information he had found. Steph had said the new blood showed up around three weeks ago, and that they were selling predominantly weapons to the other gangs. Large amounts of weapons meant large amounts of data altering to make the whole transport process appear legal, and if there was one thing Tim was good at, it was noticing alterations.

It was a pretty simple move from pinpointing the shell companies fronting the merchandise to tracing the IP addresses and paper trail back to the company Lau had headed. From there though the trail became muddy. Tim bit his lip and poured over the unfamiliar names, companies, and conglomerates associated with Lau’s holdings. Anyone of them could be the string connecting the web to the spider. It was just a matter of picking the right one to follow back.

Tim cracked his knuckles and got to work. It took time, considerable time, to look into every name associated with Lau’s company, but he found a rhythm and combed through the data steadily. Fifty-seven corporations in and Tim hit pay dirt. Tim grinned wildly and downloaded the company’s entire server.

Eden Corps was a subsidiary of a subsidiary of a shell corporation of about a million other legally questionable organizations operating out of California but with main resources and development taking place in the Middle East. To the feds, they seemed like a pretty standard research and development body, on paper listing their assets as purely medical. A quick scan of their financial reports though painted a very different picture.

There were tons of discrepancies. Chemicals earmarked for cancer research were chemicals no self-respecting scientist would ever dabble with. Machines meant for some sort of bio-engineering had more in common with bombs than prosthetics. It was off, very off, and Tim felt his brow furrow. A few clicks of his mouse and he was ankle deep in their encrypted R&D plans. The symbol was the first thing to greet him. It rested as a watermark against the scientific jargon, buried so deeply within the company files that anyone taking a casual glance would never even know it existed. With the level of protection on the files, it was no wonder that his preliminary image searches brought up nothing.

As gratifying as it was to see the symbol though, Tim felt his breath stutter. The plans, schematics, formulas; they were anything but medical in nature. Nerve gas, anthrax, some sort of germ that could devour plastic, and hundreds of other Geneva Convention-violating weapons littered the files. His mouth fell open as he scrolled and scrolled. There were enough active projects going on within the company to annihilate a large city.

His phone rang on the bed and Tim’s mouth shut with a loud click. He took a quick glance at the clock and figured it was probably Steph or Jason. With a last look at the screen filled with weapons of mass destruction, Tim reached over and snatched the cell.

“Yeah?” he asked distractedly, copying the plans over onto a new flash drive. There was no way he was putting shit this dangerous into an unencrypted hard drive.

He wasn’t prepared for the deep, creepy as fuck voice answering him.

“Very impressive detective work. I hope your reading has been entertaining, Mister Drake.”

Tim jolted and nearly dropped the phone. He fumbled for a grip, nearly ending the call in the attempt. “Who the hell is this? How did you get this number?” he barked, trying to sound more authoritative than freaked out. Tim could have sworn on everything he had ever held sacred that he’d been on a secure network. There was no way for his actions to be tracked. Right?

“All in good time. I believe you’ve stumbled upon something not meant for your eyes,” the voice intoned, dripping with condescension and, if Tim was hearing it right, mirth. “This will not do, Mister Drake.”

It was hard for Tim to exhale without it sounding nervous. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded or not. “I’m gonna guess it’s safe to assume that you’re the one behind Gotham’s current clusterfuck?” Tim grimaced, standing up. He needed to get to Bruce or Jason, like, ten minutes ago.

The voice began tsking as soon as he rose from the chair. “Language. I would prefer it if we conducted our interactions with a certain level of professionalism. We are all adults here,” he said silkily, like a finger tracing the edge of a blade. “And as a sign of our common courtesy, I would advise you to remain seated and refrain from alerting your compatriots of this call. Or of the information you have so skillfully stumbled upon.”

Tim sat back down and glared at the screen until he realized that the voice knew what he was doing. “Where’s the camera?” he whispered, eyes going directly to his webcam. He quickly shut the screen.

The voice laughed at that. It was cold, but there was a note of actual amusement. “I believe the camera should be the least of your concerns, dear Timothy. Look down,” the voice ordered.

He resisted the urge for all of three seconds before looking down. Three bright red dots danced on his chest and their weight drove the air out of his lungs.

“Now, you are an intelligent young man. I believe you can grasp the severity of your situation.”

There was a pause as Tim cleared his throat, limbs stiff with tension. “Are you going to kill me then?” he asked, voice low and measured. Just another threat of death from another power wielding crime lord. This wasn’t new. He could handle this.

The voice had the audacity to laugh at him. “Kill you? That would be counter-intuitive. Your companions though…they are much more expendable.”

“So you’re just going to threaten me into silence by targeting my friends? You really must be afraid of me,” Tim bit, mind racing through any number of ways to safeguard the Family. This person was threatened by him, he had some sort of leverage here.

There was a pause. “Silence? No, my dear Timothy. I am fascinated by your ability to find things you shouldn’t. I merely wish to limit this little game to only the players worthy of competing. You should feel honored. And Timothy,” the voice drawled, oozing confidence and poison, “do try to not disappoint.”

Tim stared at his phone as it sounded the dial tone. The dots had long disappeared, taking with them all evidence that the exchange had even occurred. He swallowed back the churning unrest gathering in his throat and tossed the cell onto the bed.

If the voice wanted a challenge, then Tim would damn well give him one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUN about time we heard from the man behind the curtain. as always, check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know your thoughts. until next time~


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw this chapter plus mentions of past trauma (a little bit less than canon, but still pretty bad) and panic attacks. also, please check out the endnotes, theyre very important.

It was well past an acceptable hour of wakefulness when Tim found himself stumbling out of his room and towards the kitchen, his stomach awake and demanding and his head filled with countless data strings. The encryptions were getting stronger and the hours of hacking longer and it was all he could do to keep up the pace. It had gotten to the point where even his special ergonomic chair felt like a slab of concrete. His back ached and his eyes felt strained and Tim felt he was well past due a break.

He was making progress, albeit slowly. Whereas before he was able to blow through stacks of hard drives within a few hours, now he was reduced to toiling away one encryption at a time. Each file had a plethora of firewalls and assorted hoops to jump through, and with it being impossible to tell the content at a glance, he was forced to open each and every one in hopes of finding even a scrap of usable information. It was a glacially slow process.

Whoever it was behind the curtain, he or she was more than adept at covering the digital tracks left in the wake of the havoc they were wreaking. But Tim was putting his all into it, and the distance between him and the identity of the mastermind was narrowing. He’d already discovered the person was operating out of the eastern side of Europe. It was still a huge area, but it was more than they had two weeks ago. A few more shake downs and another half dozen hard drives and Tim felt confident he’d be able to put a name to the one pulling the strings. Hopefully. Tim was keeping his fingers crossed in any case.

But until then, hypothetical or otherwise, Tim needed food, sleep, and about a gallon of coffee injected directly into his blood stream. He made his was down the dark halls in a daze, periodically bumping into the walls that were kind enough to prop him up and offer their support on his long arduous trek downstairs. It was astonishing how polite the hall lamps were.

He entered the bright kitchen and made a beeline for the refrigerator, hands outstretched for the leftover stir fry Alfred had made for dinner earlier. Beef, broccoli, bean sprouts, and all Tim wanted in that moment was for it to be inside him. A victorious hum sounded as he snatched up his cold prize.

“Should I leave you two alone, or are you into it when people watch?”

Tim whipped around, his Tupperware clenched protectively against his chest and suddenly aware that he may have been narrating out loud. He probably should have realized something was off when he walked into a brightly lit kitchen in the middle of the night.

Jason was wearing his trademark smile and a soft looking Henley, his hip resting against the stove. A couple of pots were bubbling away quietly on the cooktop and Jason was lazily stirring the smaller one. Tim stared for a few long seconds until his work-muddled brain had processed the image of Jason Todd being domestic.

“Uh. What?”

Jason huffed with what he could only call fondness. “I was wondering if I needed to give you two some privacy, I’d hate to interrupt you and the leftover’s alone time,” he quipped. “Hey, while you’re over there you wanna grab me that Ziploc of pasta that’s in the freezer?”

Tim looked down at the container he was embracing and slowly loosened his grip, turning to grab the mentioned bag. “I think we can control ourselves. What are you doing?” The microwave was conveniently located next to the stove and Tim plodded over, surreptitiously peering into the assortment of cookware in Jason’s employ and setting the bag on the counter. A small pot of sauce was simmering away beside a larger pot full of heating water, a cutting board next to it with the remains of some tomatoes and herbs still on it.

“Making pasta, what’s it look like I’m doing? Jesus, you’re supposed to be the smart one in our little power couple.” Jason stared at the water intently and Tim snorted.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” His mind was slowly losing its sluggishness in light of Jason’s acerbic banter and he poked at the sauce with the abandoned spoon. “You can be the smart one when you learn how to hack something more secure than my tablet’s lockscreen.”

Jason chuckled and reached for the pasta, having deemed the water adequately boiled. He pulled out a measuring cup and divvied out a serving and dumped it into the pot of water. He made a move for another scoop before stopping short. “You want any?” he asked, watching Tim stick his nose into the pots like a curious raccoon.

Tim considered the cold stir fry and then the pasta. Being fed by Jason? Uh yeah, he was okay with that. “Well, if you’re offering,” he accepted nonchalantly, already moving to put the container back in the fridge. “So what are you doing up this late? Bruce got you running more errands? Some shady late night deal that I wasn’t invited to? Illicit romantic tryst that I also wasn’t invited to?”

Another large scoop of what looked like homemade penne went into the pot with a hot splash. “Nah, nothing like that. Couldn’t sleep is all,” Jason admitted. Tim suddenly noticed the dark bags under his eyes. “Felt like a pasta kinda night, so I’m making pasta. Or well, I made the sauce. Pasta’s from a week ago. Wasn’t feeling up to lugging out the pasta press. How about you? Figured you’d be out by now.”

Hopping up on the counter, Tim rested his head against the cabinets and yawned. “Sleep is for the weak and people who don’t have databases to crack. We’re on a tight schedule so I’m stuck burning the midnight oil,” he mumbled, staring down at the methodical way Jason stirred his pasta. It was easy to forget that Jason was well versed in Italian fare. He wondered vaguely if Jason knew how to make tiramisu and how much he’d have to beg for him to whip some up sometime. His fingers fiddled with the seam on his flannel pants and it took him a moment to realize that Jason had been lecturing.

“…and it’s not like we’re slave drivers or the fate of the world is at stake here, you can sleep if you want to,” Jason chastised, stirring much more animatedly, “Or, and stay with me on this one now, you could ask for help? We do own a huge company full of smart people at our disposal.”

Tim rolled his eyes and kicked lightly at Jason’s thigh with his socked foot. “Pretty sure Bruce has enough stress in his life without worrying about more of his employees maintaining plausible deniability. But careful, you mother hen anymore and I’ll have to insist we invest in a minivan,” Tim joked, swinging his legs. “I mean look at you, you’re already cooking for me and everything.”

Using his free hand, Jason caught the leg closest to him and tugged Tim from his perch, making him yelp. “Keep that up and I’ll have full authority to spank you when you get sassy, pretty bird,” Jason delivered in a serious voice. “Now go grab some bowls and stop stickin’ your nose into my culinary masterpiece that I am so graciously allowin’ you to sample.” He took the opportunity to smack Tim solidly on the ass as he passed, just to drive his point home.

Shooting a glare over his shoulder as he went, Tim moved to the tableware shelf, a childish “yes, mom” muttered under his breath. He took the liberty of snatching a couple of forks and the parmesan before returning to Jason’s side, inserting himself back into the man’s personal space. “Mom, is it done yet?” he whined, stealing the sauce spoon yet again.

Jason took it back and knocked Tim away from the stove with a solid hip bump. “Just about, Oedipus,” he retorted, his grin demonic in the fluorescent light.

Tim recoiled in disgust and he kicked Jason again, his affronted “Oh my god, I seriously can’t believe you just went there,” half buried in his own shocked laughter. Jason dodged and turned off the burners, undoubtedly proud of himself.

The pot of pasta was lifted and poured into the colander in the sink as Jason laughed. “What, you tired of the motherfuckin’ Oedipus jokes? You started it, pretty bird, I just finished it,” he reasoned, shaking the excess water from the strainer.

“Yeah,” Tim scoffed, “finished it with incest. When is that ever a good idea Jason?” He dragged the bowls over towards Jason, nudging him in the arm with the ceramic. “I need food to heal the damage your comment has caused me. Compensation now,” he demanded.

Jason quirked an eyebrow. “Oh so now I’ve wounded you? Poor baby can’t take a little incest joke, how sad.” His tone was patronizing but he still filled Tim’s bowl to the top with penne. Tim grinned.

“Yes, very sad. Heartbreaking really.” He poured a veritable mountain of cheese on top of the pile of pasta and waited for Jason to fill his own bowl. “We taking this to the dining room or what?”

“I was thinking we could go up to my room and watch a movie, I don’t know about you but I’m a little too wired to go to sleep anytime soon,” he offered lightly, sprinkling a modest amount of parmesan on his serving. “I’ve got The Hobbit, if you’re feeling confrontational.”

“It’s like you know me,” Tim agreed, already stacking the used dishes into the dishwasher. He didn’t need to be an accomplice in one of Alfred’s kitchen crime scenes. Jason, already ahead of him, gave the counter top a quick wipe down and then led the way through the dark halls.

This wasn’t the first time Tim had ever been inside Jason’s room. They had gotten into the habit of hanging around each other when not out on the streets, and while Tim’s guest room had gradually become more personalized and comfortable, it was Jason’s that they frequented.

And to be honest, Tim kind of wished he lived in Jason’s room. There was just something about the room that felt homey, lived in. It also helped that it was basically Jason’s nerd-cave. Three of the walls were covered floor to ceiling with assorted classic literature and cinema posters, the fourth was hidden behind a huge bookshelf and entertainment system that boasted a sizable movie collection. The bookshelf was pretty impressive in its own right even if Jason never deigned to use it for his book hoard.

Jason flicked on the light and Tim automatically went to clear off a section of bed to sit. “You’re seriously like a crazy cat lady with these books,” Tim complained, setting down his bowl of food to properly stack up an assortment of Byron, Lovecraft, and Jane Austin. Jason was feeling maudlin it seemed.

“Yeah but my books won’t eat my corpse when I undoubtedly die in here,” he shot back over his shoulder while putting the DVD in. “Which I think makes them worth the clutter.” The title screen appeared on the flat screen and Jason stood up, bowl in hand before plopping down onto the bed beside Tim. “Here hold this a second,” he said balancing his food on Tim’s knee as he reached under the bed, pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

Tim gave him a look. “You trying to wine and dine me here?”

“I’m just makin’ this movie experience a little more entertaining,” he said taking a swig. He raised an eyebrow as he offered the bottle. “You tellin’ me you wanna watch this without being inebriated?”

Tim snatched the whiskey and Jason laughed, taking back his pasta.

The bottle was on its last legs forty-five minutes in.

“Shut up Legolas, you don’t even go here!” Jason slurred, abortively throwing a wadded up napkin at the screen. Their pasta was long gone and between the booze and the warm food Tim was feeling happy in the way that only comes from being well-fed and liquored up.

A smack landed on his leg, a bit off centered though not for lack of trying. “You take that back, don’t you fuck with my woodland prince,” Tim snarled, snatching back the whiskey and draining it in one swallow. “He, he can be in anythin’ he wants, his face is like French fries, goes with everythin’”

Jason swiped at Tim, his face half smooshed into Tim’s t-shirt. His breath was hot, even through the layer of cloth. “Tha’s fuckin’ bullshit, pretty bird, Fili and Kili are aweso-” He was cut off by Tim’s hand across his mouth. His face was livid. Or as livid as he could manage.

“We don’t talk about Fili and Kili Jason. We jus’ don’t.”

Suddenly contrite, Jason nodded, rolling completely into Tim’s chest. “I’ st’ll ‘urts,” he mumbled through the fabric. Tim patted his shoulder soundly, bobbing his head in agreement. Jason’s arms wrapped around his torso and Tim, through the alcohol haze, attempted to convince himself it was the whiskey making his face burn. If he carded his fingers through Jason’s unruly hair, well he could chalk that up to the whiskey too.

The movie chugged on in the background for another disappointing half hour and Tim was sad to admit that it took him the majority of that time to realize that Jason had gradually been working his hand beneath his shirt. Fingers skimmed along his stomach and he fought down a shiver. He rested his hand on Jason’s wrist and inhaled sharply.

“How drunk are you?” he asked, a bemused chuckle in his voice. Jason lifted his head and the lazy smile on his face punched the air out of his lungs. The quick, sweet kiss he planted on Tim’s lax mouth shocked the oxygen back in.

“Drunk enough to think you look hot in a Star Wars shirt,” he answered, pressing another woefully short kiss to the corner of Tim’s lips. Tim huffed and turned into it, coaxing it deeper. If he was sober enough to poke fun at his shirt then that was good enough for him.

“Trekkie loser,” he gasped, shoving Jason flat against the bed and straddling his legs. “Empire Strikes Back blows Wrath of Kh-” and he was promptly cut off with a tongue down his throat. Pulling himself up, Jason threaded his free hand through Tim’s hair and then attached his lips to his pulse point. After that Tim lost the ability to argue the superiority of Star Wars over Star Trek. To be honest he lost the ability to do much besides moan and put his mouth over every inch of Jason’s skin within reach.

Tim pressed closer and tangled their legs together, thrumming with the heat and the whiskey flavoring their mouths. Jason’s hands were burning a path under his shirt and lingering across his ribs and Tim arched into it. He untangled a hand from Jason’s messy hair and let it slide down his thick bicep, his chest, pausing at the hem of the Henley for only a second before slipping his fingers beneath to trace bare skin.

He had all of four seconds to marvel at the warmth before Jason hastily broke their fevered kiss and shoved them apart.

Tim stared, stunned, as Jason took a few deep breaths and hurriedly tugged his shirt hem back down, along with the sleeves, pulling them as far as they would go to the point that his hands were nearly hidden in the fabric. After a few more slow breaths, Jason finally looked at Tim, or tried to at least. The background sound of Benedict Cumberbatch making dragon noises tore into the silence until Tim fumbled for the remote, muting the movie that was still playing.

“I’m…I’m really sorry about that,” he began, all of his previous confidence lost with the self-depreciating smile he was now forcing. “I uh. I have some. Issues. With. Yeah. Sorry if I freaked you out.” He still fought to avoid eye contact and tugged at his sleeves every other word or so.

The rapid shift in tone was more sobering than ice water down his spine and Tim slowly edged forward to take Jason’s hands in his own, if only to stop their insistent tugging. They were shaking. Jason let him and focused on their hands, refusing to lift his head to meet Tim’s concerned stare.

“Are you okay Jason? Do you want me to get Bruce or someone?” Tim asked gently, letting Jason entwine their fingers. Jason shook his head and tightened his grip slightly.

“I just. Please, give me a minute, pretty bird.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes and slowly Jason’s shaking abated. He took a few more steadying breaths before finally raising his head. He gave a weak smile and released their hands, instead pulling Tim towards him for a hug. Tim went eagerly and held Jason, the comfort as much for Jason as it was for his own frayed nerves. He searched for something to say.

Jason was the one to break the silence.

“I’m sorry for spazzing out on you like that,” he started.

Tim promptly cut him off. “No, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault at all,” he said, his tone leaving little room for argument.

Jason pulled away enough to look him in the eye. He brought a hand up to cradle Tim’s face, thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone, and kissed him lightly. “It’s not your fault or anything, Tim. I thought I was good but apparently I’m not. You startled me, that’s all,” he replied airily, sobriety forcing its head out of the warm remains of their drunken petting.

Tim frowned. “That’s all? You looked a hell of a lot more than startled, Jason.” He let Jason pull him down and under him. Tim went easily. It was obvious Jason needed the contact. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I really don’t think you should be this blasé. You were shaking an—”

He was cut off by a heavy sigh, Jason pressing his face into his neck. He waited a beat before continuing.

“And I’m not going to lie, it did freak me out,” he finished, slowly carding his fingers through Jason’s thick hair. Jason let out a childish groan and tucked himself even closer into Tim’s personal space. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Tim stroking his hair and Jason hiding his face.

“Not nearly drunk enough for this kind of heavy shit, pretty bird,” Jason whined, trying to lighten the atmosphere weighing down on them. Tim gave a half chuckle and hummed in agreement. He waited. He wasn’t going to force the issue if Jason wanted to take his out.

With a quiet sigh, Jason eventually pulled himself up to rest on his elbows, bracketing Tim’s head between them. He looked at him, then away, obviously trying to find the words. There was a heavy pause before he found his voice.

“So when I was fifteen I was. I got taken. Kidnapped. Whatever you wanna call it. I hadn’t been with Bruce that long, only a few years, I wasn’t even involved in the Family yet, but apparently I was a good target. Someone people could use to get to B. I’m not gonna go into the how’s and why’s ‘cause that’s a clusterfuck for another night and another bottle, but yeah. I got grabbed, and it wasn’t fun,” he delivered with forced levity and abject bitterness. He played with a lock of Tim’s hair while he spoke, like he didn’t care. Tim let him pretend.

“Kidnappings aren’t all that big a deal really when you think about it. Kid gets lifted, thrown in some cold basement for a bit until some money gets forked over, then they go home. I could’ve dealt if it had just been that. But it wasn’t some band of shitty gangbangers lookin’ to make a quick buck and a quicker enemy.” He paused for another heavy minute, eyes focused on the piece of hair between his fingers.

“It was Joker. I got grabbed by the Joker.”

Tim’s eyes went wide.

“Yeah. I get that reaction a lot. Trust me, it gets worse,” he snorted derisively, brushing the bangs out of Tim’s face. “He was hired by some group. Some fuckin’ Family that’s long gone now. B made sure of that at least. He was supposed to grab me and hold me until B decided to give ‘em whatever they were out for.”

Jason took a breath, exhaled angrily. “Fucker wasn’t in it for the money though. You probably know all ‘bout him and B’s issues, he was lookin’ for a chance to do somethin’ big. Somethin’ B couldn’t just shake off.”

Another pregnant pause. Another dozen inhales and exhales.

“He beat me. Hard. Fists, kicks, there was a crow bar at one point but I blacked out in the middle. Body can only take so much, ya know?” Jason’s voice was rueful, wry, so dry it threatened to blow away like sand. Tim let the hand not stroking Jason’s hair tighten into the fabric of his shirt. An anchor, for whom though he couldn’t say. Not at this point.

“That’s uh. That’s why there was the whole ‘thing.’ I. I took a lot of damage. From it. It’s not easy to look at. And it’s not easy to let people see. And I thought I was over it but trauma has a nasty habit of rearing its ugly head when you least expect it.” Another self-depreciating smile. Tim’s heart was caught in his throat. “I use to not care, back when I was still young. But you know high school and locker rooms and kids. Mean little shits, always lookin’ and talkin’. I just. I try to keep it covered,” he sighed, tugging down the collar of his shirt slightly for a couple of seconds.

Only a sliver of skin had been visible, maybe a third of his clavicle, but the scar tissue was still startlingly obvious. It suddenly hit Tim that he had never seen Jason wear anything that didn’t extend past his forearms.

“And usually I don’t even think about it but well, I was having a shitty night as it was and it just hit me,” Jason rambled, tone painfully apologetic. It was obvious he thought Tim would leave or laugh it off or react poorly. Fuck that.

Tim tugged him forward into a short, sincere kiss. “Hey, hey, don’t worry about it. I’m not mad or about to walk out on you, I just want to make sure you’re doing something you’re comfortable doing.”

Jason scoffed, his stupidly charming smirk back. “I’m comfortable doin’ just about anything as long as it’s with you, pretty bird,” he murmured, pressing forward for another kiss. “Just, baby steps, okay?”

The kiss was answer enough and before Tim could really process what was happening, the heat and fervor was tentatively back. The taste of whiskey coated his palette and the half-forgotten buzz slowly began to return. Tim pressed into it, wrapping his arms around Jason’s neck and tangling his fingers into the mess he had made of Jason’s hair. He broke away enough to breathe in a lungful of air, gasping “Tell me if I do something you don’t like,” before diving back down for another dose of bourbon-flavored heat. Jason moaned some form of an affirmative before proceeding to kiss the coherency out of Tim.

Jason’s hands burned trails on his skin, the shirt merely a short lived obstacle that had been removed when they had come up for air. Tim let his hands wander down the soft fabric covering Jason’s back, digging his fingers in and tugging insistently whenever Jason allowed more than an inch of space between their bodies.

“Jesus, I wanna blow you pretty bird,” Jason groaned into the skin of his neck, his mouth laving and nipping his pulse point. Tim sucked in a breath, dug his fingers in tighter, and groaned like he was dying.

“Oh god, please yes.”

Breathing ceased entirely as Jason dropped his head lower and lower, slowly, painstakingly down Tim’s stomach. His hot breath set his skin tingling and Tim was hopelessly straining to keep his hips on the bed. Hands settled on his waistband, tugging them below his hipbones to open up more skin to Jason’s searing mouth.

The second the button was flicked open was the moment Tim lost the ability to stay quiet. To be honest though, he hadn’t been doing that great of a job before. At least Jason didn’t seem to mind though, which was somewhat comforting.

It took no time at all for the zipper to follow suit and for Tim to realize just how hot Jason’s mouth was when it was nipping bruises into his hipbones, his thighs. He couldn’t seem to stop squirming. Each sharp bite and hint of tongue wound him tighter and tighter and Jason was _laughing_ into his skin now because he knew.

“Oh my _god,_ do something before I kick yo-” Tim choked on the word as Jason delivered a particularly close bite, “you, I swear to fucking god Jason I will.” He knotted his fingers into Jason’s thick hair like it was actually threatening and tried to stop shaking himself to pieces on the bedspread.

Jason nuzzled into the bulge in his boxers and Tim wondered if it was possible to die from being so turned on. Because, from the way things were going and the _hand that was not his slipping into his boxers oh god_ , he wouldn’t be surprised if his heart stopped.

The world seemed to fizzle out around him when Jason pulled him from the confines of his boxers, only coming back in startling 1020 pi clarity the instant he saw Jason open his mouth. He briefly, for a single split second, worried that he was going to hurt Jason with the force of the death grip he had on his hair, but the concern was quickly swept away with every other half-baked thought in his head, save one.

Jason Todd was sucking his cock. Dreams really do come true.

He quickly grew breathless with the constant litany of moans, curses, and inarticulate begging dripping from his mouth. Everything felt hot to the point of burning, Jason taking him deeper and deeper with every bob of his head, his muffled hums and moans sending a heady vibration straight through Tim’s taut frame.

“Oh fu-fuck, Jason, so good,” Tim gasped. “So close, god Jason, you’re doing so _good_.” He bit his lip and tried to thrust deeper, chasing the rapidly approaching edge.

Until everything abruptly stopped.

“Doing so _well_.”

Tim blinked at the ceiling, breathing ragged and pained and he pulled himself up to meet Jason’s eyes.

“What.”

There was no question in his voice as he slowly relaxed his fingers in Jason’s hair. There was no way Jason had left him hanging. No way had he stopped what could have been the greatest moment of Tim’s life to correct his dirty talk. His grammatically incorrect dirty talk.

“I’m doin’ well, pretty bird. Not good,” Jason rasped, licking his reddened lips with a smirk. His voice was even huskier now, and fuck if that didn’t help ease Tim’s temper. The heavy lick along his spit-slick shaft helped even more.

“Is this ah-” Tim started, only to be cut off by quick, short kitten licks. “Is this really the best time for grammar lesso…”

Jason had abandoned his cock to slide himself up to Tim’s face. He was still grinning and Tim offhandedly noted that he was undoing his own zipper. He let his hands tangled in Jason’s shirt and watched him free his cock. Tim groaned, pressing them together. Sweet, sweet friction.

“Never the wrong time for proper grammar babe,” he chuckled, pressing kisses along Tim’s neck. Tim could feel his breath hitch against his skin and he thrust harder against Jason, hoping to hear it again. He could taste himself when they kissed, the flavor thick and heady on his tongue.

Tim flipped them so he was on top and able to control the pace, breaking the kiss to bite his lip. “Jesus Christ Jason, only fucking you,” he groaned out, releasing a hand to move down and fist them both together. He pumped them without much finesse and it wasn’t long until Jason’s hands began to wander, making it that much more difficult to keep up any semblance of a rhythm. Jason pulled Tim’s free hand from his henly and placed it under the shirt.

“Jus’ keep it covered,” he made out between breaths, and Tim did just that. He stroked and explored as much of Jason’s chest as he could reach from his current angle, littering kisses and bites along his neck and collarbone, all the while keeping his hand moving. Jason reached out and put his hand over Tim’s and suddenly everything was so much better.

It wasn’t long until Tim felt himself nearing the edge again. He tried to hold back but something in his expression must have tipped Jason off because he smacked away Tim’s hand, pumping them both much faster. It was over within seconds.

He came with a low keening, making a mess of Jason’s hand and shirt. Jason kissed him through the afterglow, coming himself only a few seconds later. They laid there, trying to breathe as they both came down from the high. Tim rolled off of Jason and face planted into the pillow next to him, already half asleep. Jason reached over his prone form and snagged a stray shirt from the floor, using it to clean them both off before tossing it in the general direction of his laundry hamper.

“I for one think we should make that a standing engagement, pretty bird,” Jason managed to say, curling around Tim. Tim hummed in agreement and wrapped his arms around Jason, tangling their legs together under the sheets.

“As long as you make me more food,” Tim mumbled, pressing his lips along Jason’s cheek and throat. There was enough alcohol in him to make him a little cotton-brained, and coupled with the warmth and orgasm, there wasn’t much in the world that would make him want to move.

“I think I can do that.”

The muted title screen of the movie went black as Jason found the remote and hit the power button, taking with it the majority of the room’s light. Tim was out before the remote hit the ground, and Jason curled up closer, following within minutes.

The morning greeted Tim with a harsh ferocity and he burrowed deeper into the bedding in attempts to reject the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. It wasn’t long before he gave up, resigned to the prospect of consciousness. Jason was still asleep, somehow managing to ignore the blinding light assaulting Tim’s retinas and it took longer than he’d like to admit to untangle himself from Jason’s arms. The man groaned a bit, blearily opening an eye to squint at Tim and frown.

“What?” he asked, bringing a hand up to run through Tim’s impressive bedhead. “Go back t’ sleep.”

Tim leaned into the touch for a moment before removing the hand and tucking Jason in. “Nah, I think I’m up. I’m gonna go get a shower, brush my teeth. I’ll meet you down at breakfast, okay?” he answered, a little enamored with Jason so sleep-heavy and clingy. He stroked his hair and Jason was soon back asleep, practically purring with contentment.

It didn’t take him long to gather his clothes and sneak back to his own room down the hall. The shower woke him up further and washed away any vestiges of a hangover or last night’s mess, leaving him feeling awake and ready to face the day.

He found the kitchen already occupied with Damian and Dick seated at the bar, matching bowls of cereal in front of them both. Dick was, as always, trying to engage Damian in conversation, managing to get a few sentences out of him every now and then. It was an improvement at least, Tim usually was lucky to get a yes or no from the kid when he needed a question answered. He ignored them after returning Dick’s bright morning greeting and turned to the pantry, stomach set on procuring some oatmeal.

The pot was boiling away on the stove when he felt arms around his waist and a face buried in his hair. He smiled, stirring the mix. “I see you finally decided to get up,” he joked, leaning into the chest behind him. “You want some?”

Jason hummed and pressed a kiss into his cheek before letting him go. “Nah, I’m feeling pop tarts today. You sleep okay, pretty bird?” he asked, moving towards the pantry to forage.

Tim kept stirring his oatmeal and leaned against the counter a little, already missing the warmth against his back. “Pretty well, thanks for asking.” Their conversation lapsed into silence as Jason dug around searching for his wild berry pop tarts, and it was only then that Tim noticed that Damian and Dick had stopped talking. He turned and saw them both staring into the pantry at Jason, and angle that Tim couldn’t manage from where he was situated at the stove.

Damian broke the silence first. “Are you…well, Todd?” he asked, staring at the pantry with a look of surprise on his face. Jason grunted out an affirmative, still searching for the box. Alfred preferred them to not eat so much sugar in the morning and he took great pains to hide things like pop tarts and the marshmallow cereal, if only to make them work for their empty calories.

“I only ask because it has been some time since I have seen you in such a state of undress,” Damian continued hesitantly, and it was then that Tim decided to move.

“Shut up, Demon, I just felt like a change,” Jason turned, arms crossed defensively over his short sleeved t-shirt.

His arms weren’t horribly scarred, but it was easy to see that the higher they went the worse they got. Tim’s breath caught in his throat and he walked into the pantry, hugging Jason tightly.

“Why are the two of you so physical this morning?” Damian asked, his irritation making itself known as he stabbed at his cereal. “I know that you are both shameless but this is extensive, even for you.”

Jason grinned and Tim could see him flip Damian off over his shoulder as he pulled Tim closer. Dick sighed, telling Damian to use his imagination. They both snickered at his angry, affronted response and Tim took another look at Jason’s bare arms. This was more skin than Jason had shown in all the time he’d lived with him. From Damian’s reaction, maybe even years. Baby steps, he had said.

Tim was so happy that he barely cared when his oatmeal burned.

It was hours later before Tim was able to pull himself away from Jason under the guise of checking some encryption progress he had been running. Despite their redefined relationship, Tim was reluctant to share the phone call with Jason just yet. The threat had been real, of that there was no doubt. If he were to bring people in, Tim knew he needed proof and a solid plan. And for that to happen, he still needed a name.

Tim slipped into his room, successfully alone, and made a beeline to his computer. The screen had long gone black since the night before, but he knew the programs he had running were still chugging away in the background. He crossed the room and plopped into his chair, giving it a good spin for dramatic flair. The movement, though weak, was enough to send a few loose papers fluttering.

His eyes alit on one piece in particular, a small rectangle out of place in the stack of printer pages. Tim pulled himself out of his seat and snatched it from the floor, noting the thick quality of the cardstock. The front was embossed with heavy lines, dark calligraphy a razor against the bright white. Tim’s hands shook as he took in the sight of the logo he had been pouring over all night.

Whoever it was that had challenged him to the game had more than just access to his files, cameras, and conversations. They had the resources and talent necessary to gain access to the manor itself. Tim fell back into his chair and tried to calm his pounding heart. There was no way he could go to anyone about this. Not with their safety and security so obviously compromised.

The card cut into his hand when he clenched his fist and Tim smothered the fear. It was up to him to win, invasion or threats be damned. The chair was spun and Tim settled his fingers on home row, ready to make his next move on the chessboard before him.

This was one game he was not going to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thats it! thats all ive got pre-written in this half of the fic. this signals the end of our weekly updates and i have to apologize for that. im going to try my damnedest to get more content out on this but since im entering my last semester of college and have a senior thesis hanging over my head (as well as some big bang stuff on the hxh side of things), i really cant guarantee any sort of regular schedule on this. if you havent already, id highly suggest subscribing to this fic so you can get email notifications and following me on tumblr (terminallydepraved). ill be posting update notices over there and if you check out my Frenetic tag on my blog youll be able to keep apprised of any and all news relating to progress. ive got the entire fic planned out already, all ive got to do is write it and were looking at at least another 100 pages of content still. 
> 
> thank you so much for sticking with me on this and i hope you enjoy what ive got coming! comments and encouragements are always appreciated. until next time~


	18. Plot Summary and Official Hiatus Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long time coming, and it's thanks to a few curious commenters on here and tumblr that I've finally gotten around to writing up my notes for you all so you can finally see where this fic was going. Thank you for all who stayed patient through the long silences. I'm sorry that I won't be finishing this work, but I hope that my notes are enough to grant you some closure to the story.

[Please read the official document here on googledocs.](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1zP3gTo9T0ZceMuBLDNJHhm9lgaeXKlHGoNKPVXDSk04/edit?usp=sharing)

If you've any questions, feel free to leave a comment here and I'll answer as best I can. 

 


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